


From Trenzalore, With Love

by backp0rchpoet



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, whouffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 88,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5775994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backp0rchpoet/pseuds/backp0rchpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Eleven's regeneration in Trenzalore, Clara Oswald knew things were far from over for her and The Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because there has got to be many, many more places that you can bring me to in the TARDIS – there has to be. Just to have you with me for a while longer.

_23 August, 2014_  
  
_My Doctor,_  
  
_I wish I have plucked up the courage to say the things I wanted to say when I got that unexpected call from you. But, in the end, I did not. Just like that Christmas night – the longest Christmas night I have ever had in my life, (the little girl in me would have wished for a Christmas like that at least once in my younger life), and the first and last Christmas I would spend with you. Well, almost anyway. That Christmas, when you regenerated into someone new._  
  
_I had my first adventure with the new Doctor today, and it was the saddest one since I have encountered a Time Lord. It was nothing like my first adventure with you. Twelve (it’s either I name him based on the number of regenerations, or “Old Doctor”, and I don’t want to be rude) did not bring me to see “something awesome”, like you did. We were just – thrown all over the universe and space and time because apparently, he doesn’t know how to fly a TARDIS! I didn’t know it was even possible for The Doctor until Twelve came along. We were gobbled up by a dinosaur, and then transported back to Victorian London – with the dinosaur._  
  
_Twelve was nothing like you. He was so – disorientated and lost and confused. He doesn’t even know he is The Doctor! It was fortunate that we ran into Madame Vastra and the gang when we deployed in old London; I would have just hid myself in the TARDIS until by some weird miracle, she would have the kindness to transport me back home. Strange. So many times when I was with you, I didn’t want you to bring me home. Yet, that day, for the first time, I really wanted to go home._  
  
_It was bad enough that Twelve was still getting used to his new self, (apparently, as that was what Madame Vastra assured me). (There were some misunderstood exchanges too back there, but I won’t go into details about it, since we have sort of cleared things up by the end of it). We just had to run in to some sort of murderous cyborgs when we were there! Cyborgs ala Frankenstein, roaming about London to find suitable “spare parts” from humans to replace a part of themselves with. Bet you would LOVE to meet him – the Half-Faced Man, as Twelve later called him._  
  
_And you can bet I would love to have you meet him too. Because if so, you would be there with me…_  
  
_For the first time, after battling Zygons and Cybermen and Daleks with you – for the very first time, I was terrified. Nothing could prepare me for Twelve’s reaction when we were trapped in the heart of the lair of these – humanoids. The Half-Faced Man was just a few feet away from me, and the trapped door has separated me from Twelve. I was trapped in there on my own. Nothing could prepare me when Twelve turned on his tail and ran the other way!_  
  
_You could not imagine how my heart broke, seeing him running away from trouble. How could he be you? He was nothing like you. That was what I kept focus on as I pretended to be one of the “deactivated” humanoids – you._  
  
_You, my Doctor, would not have abandoned me to my demise just like that. You would point your sonic screwdriver at the trapped door, and have it beaming hours on end just to find that intangible combination to save me. And if that doesn’t work, you would just go crazy and start kicking the door down! I know you would… After all the times I’ve spent with you, this at least I know for sure._  
  
_You would not just leave me. You would save me. You would always be there to save me._  
  
_Sigh._  
  
_Fortunately, all was not lost, I suppose. (I’m sitting here, after all, writing you this letter). Twelve did return. When against all odds, I had extended my hand behind me, in hopes that The Doctor would grasp it for all the belief I have in him – and at that time, all the false hopes and wishful thinking magnified. Twelve came through. He came back. He saved the day._  
  
_But if you really want me to be honest, I had wished it were you whom had held my hand – for one more time. I have gotten so used to the size of your palm on mine that when I felt Twelve’s slightly out of place one, not to mention, slightly wrinkled one, my heart sank. When I turned around and saw his face instead of yours – for a moment, I had wished the Half-Faced Man had delved into my body, and extracted my broken heart, given it to some other droids that was in need of a heart replacement._  
  
_I should have made you stay. That was what I should have done – done harder, when you were about to regenerate. I mean, I know it’s inevitable, a Time Lord’s regeneration, but still, I should have done something, instead of just standing there and watch the process complete. Because I never really wanted you to go. I have never wanted you to go. Not yet. Not ever._  
  
_Because there are still so many things we still haven’t done together. You promised to pretend to be my boyfriend, but you didn’t really see that through, so I’m still not letting you go for that – haha! And because there has got to be many, many more places that you can bring me to in the TARDIS – there has to be. Just to have you with me for a while longer. And becau-_

_*_

 

Clara dropped the pen on the paper at that moment, unable to continue with the letter. By then, she could not stop herself from crying. Tears had been streaming down her face profusely since she started this letter, and she had to stop every once in a while to wipe the tears away and recollect herself. But this time, she could not hold back. The floodgates were burst wide open. She buried her twisted face in her hands, and she just cried and cried and cried.  
  
Clara pushed away from the desk and just threw herself carelessly onto her bed. Into her favourite pillow, she poured her shattered heart and her everlasting tears. She tightened her embrace on the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to squeeze out that last memory she had of The Doctor. The sad smile he gave her, just right before Twelve took over.  
  
Doctor… Doctor… Clara called out desperately in her head.  
  
“Why did you have to go, Doctor? Why must you go and leave me with – with – him?” Clara spoke out loud in between breaths and tears. “Why – Why can’t you stay… Why can’t you stay with me?”

 

  
_*_

 

“Because I never told you I love you,” Clara whispered to herself.

It must have been hours since her breakdown. Or perhaps, just mere minutes. Yet, it could have felt like days. Clara was never sure of the span of time anymore, not since she met The Doctor. Aeons could be seconds, and months could only be minutes to her. She could never be sure anymore.

It was still dark outside. The table lamp was still beaming down on the unfinished letter she was writing to The Doctor. The letter, which she was not sure why she even bothered writing in the first place, seeing that she did not know how she would get it to him. Not Twelve, The Doctor. But the one before Twelve, _her_ Doctor.

But Clara needed somewhere to let all these pent up emotions go. She couldn’t tell Angie or Artie, they were only children. _Definitely_ not her parents. Maybe her gran, but Clara did not feel up for it it, really. After spending so much time with The Doctor, she realised that she had never had any substantial friends – _human_ friends – to confide in, when it was all over.

Now that The Doctor was gone, she was all alone.

_I should have told you I love you,_ Clara thought, as she buried herself deeper under her blanket and pillows, and as the tears began to well up again in her eyes.

“Because I love you, Doctor…” Clara sighed achingly, and closed her eyes, letting tiredness take over her, letting sleep swallow her whole.

 

*

 

The Doctor made sure Clara was already deep in her sleep before he started moving about in her room. Knowing the clumsy being that he was, he was bound to bump into her dresser or knock over the bookshelf – and he did not want to wake Clara up because of that.

_She cannot know you’re here,_ he thought to himself. _Not yet._

Carefully, The Doctor knelt down next to her bed, and he thought he felt his hearts broke a little when he saw Clara’s face. Sleeping, as she may be, yet creased on her smooth forehead lines of sorrow and heartache. It almost made The Doctor turn off his invisibility filter, and announce himself to Clara, waking her from this nightmare and craddling her in his arms, whispering in her ears: “I’m here, Clara. I’m still here. My Clara…”

But The Doctor persisted. It would be dangerous to the Universe if he were to reveal himself in a world where _another_ Doctor is in. Time and space would get jumbled up, and everything would be so out of place, it could not be put back together again. And it would be too difficult for the new Doctor to sort out, especially in this current “cooking” state that he was in. He remembered when he first regenerated: he crashed into Amy Pond’s past, and almost got her killed a few years later. He could not bear seeing this happen again, especially not to Clara.

The Doctor bit down on his bottom lip, holding back the tears already forming in his eyes, blurring his vision of Clara, _his_ Clara. His hand reached out to her, wanting to brush back the strands of hair from her face out of habit, but it took every ounce of energy in him to pull his hand back. He wanted to lean forward and lay a heartfelt kiss on her shrouded forehead, like he would the many times he thought he would lose her, but he had to hold back. Before he could jump into bed next to her so he could collect her littler curled up form into his arms, he got up in one swift motion and paced about the room.

_New feelings, so many new feelings!_ He screamed in his head. _Not yet, not yet, not yet!_

Clara tossed in her bed, and mumbled something he could not quite catch, and The Doctor felt life draining out of his being again. He spun around, and let out a sigh of relief when he realised Clara was still asleep.

The Doctor bit down on his fingernails, one, two, three times. Then, in another sweeping motion, he was by Clara’s bed again. He reached out towards her, then pulled back, and considering again, he hesitantly laid a gentle and feather light caress on her head. He thought he felt Clara leaning into his touch subconsciously, and it made him smile.

“I’m sorry, so sorry, Clara,” The Doctor breathed in the lowest of low whispers he could muster, as he tried at the same time to steady his own breathing and his own tears. “I’m sorry I had to go…”

Because after living for more than a thousand years, and regenerating up to 12 times, for the first time – well, if he were to be technical, it was his second time – he did not want to go. More so, because he did not want to leave Clara.

Because Clara was right: there has got to be many, many more places that he could bring her to in the TARDIS – there has to be. And she was right also: there were so many things he have not said to her, despite the one slipped opportunity he had when he made the call to her in the future.

“Miss ya,” was all he had managed to say. The Doctor rolled his eyes at his cowardice, as he thought about it in retrospect. That one crevice of chance, he could have said something that he had been meaning to say, but no, he had to say something as stupid and less meaningful.

And now, even if he could say it, Clara would not be able to hear it. What would be the point of it all, if she could not hear it?

_Still,_ The Doctor sighed, and looked down at Clara. Almost naturally, his hand started stroking her brunette hair gently.

Whether or not Clara woke up after he left, he was not sure. Whether or not she heard him when he leaned in close to her and kissed her foreheard, he was not certain as well. But he did it nonetheless. He leaned down close to her, close enough to feel her breath curling against his cheek. He kissed her forehead with his eyes tightly shut, and against her skin, he breathed the words he had been meaning to say to her many, many times but never had, including that one extra time after the end that he was granted, but had decided to let it slipped by.

“I love you too, Clara.”

The Doctor pressed the right button on the device latched around his wrist, and he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m doing the best I can, Doctor. I really am. But in the end, I don’t think I’m afraid – I think I’m just lost. Sad. Heartbroken.

_August 30, 2014_

_My Doctor,_

_We went inside a Dalek today – literally, inside the body (if that’s what you call it) of a Dalek. Twelve found his way to a command spaceship called Aristotle, and they have managed to secure a Dalek, which they claimed to be a “good” Dalek. I just sent him to get us our coffee, really. Like, three weeks ago. Reminded me so much of you; how you would disappear for a long time – once as long as 300 years – and show up again as if you had only left yesterday. But I suppose, it would always be “yesterday” for you, what with your time travelling and the uncertainty of the TARDIS._

_Speaking of, a weird thing happened when we were in the TARDIS, on our way to Aristotle. Twelve asked me if I thought he was a good man. Looking at his wrinkled face, for the first time, I was lost for words. For the first time, I really did not know._

_If it were your face I was looking at, and you had asked me if I thought you were a good man, my answer would have been a definite yes. You, my Doctor, were a good man during your time with me. Or at least, you were good to me. You brought me to see the Rings of Akhaten on our first trip on the TARDIS. You even took me on your anti-gravity motorbike across the Westminster Bridge. You held my hand at the centre of the TARDIS – and so many more times that I have lost count. You threw us into the heart of danger, over and over again, just to save me and hold me safe in your arms – over and over again._

_If my days with you didn’t make you a good man, I don’t know what else would._

_Well, maybe that time when you sent me back home on the TARDIS – twice, might I add, even after you promised that you would not the second time. I still haven’t forgiven you for that, if you’re wondering! But if I were to look at the bigger picture, it was all because you were protecting the town of Christmas – for 300 years. In the end, my days without you, still proved that you were a good man._

_But looking at Twelve, I just couldn’t put two and two together in my head. I couldn’t link The Doctor I’ve known through you, with this new body of his. I could not fit your glorified resume to this new face. I know, I know. You told me that he is also The Doctor, and in essence, you. But it’s taking me a while to get used to things. Looking at this new – old man… He may be The Doctor like you were, but to me, he still isn’t you._

_I’m sorry. Everything is still quite new right now, and your face still echoes in my head, even after you have regenerated – after you have gone. It’s going to take me awhile to realise, deep, deep down inside of me, that you are both basically still the same person. The same Doctor._

_Anyway, as I was saying, we were inside a Dalek today. It was malfunctioned because of a radiation leak somewhere in it. We fixed it, but somehow, it turned bad – again. Like how a Dalek would always be. And it was about the same time when things started to go from bad to worse, when I was reminded of that time when I, myself, was inside a Dalek – was a Dalek. That time you blubbered to me about in a fury and it was still too early to understand, until a few weeks later, to save you, I finally got to go through it myself inside your life’s time stream. It was about the same time too when I saw Twelve, and realised that – maybe, just maybe, he is not you, after all._

_He doesn’t always know what to say when things go wrong; sometimes he would say things that would make things even worse! Not like you. You seemed to always know the right words to tell me, to make me feel (if only) slightly comforted, even though half of me knows that you are just lying to get us through._

_I mean, sure, in the end, Twelve managed to get things under control again in his own time and style, but when I left the TARDIS earlier today – I realised that I still miss you. Questions ran through my mind: Would you react the same way Twelve did when he realised a Dalek will always be evil? Would you solve the problem at hand the way he did? Or would it all be the same because you’re the same person? Or would it all not matter at all because you’re not?_

_I know. I shouldn’t be afraid, and that I should help Twelve. But I’m doing the best I can, Doctor. I really am. But in the end, I don’t think I’m afraid – I think I’m just lost. Sad. Heartbroken. And it hurts anyway when on some days, I see you in Twelve, while on other days, I don’t see you at all. Those days hurt the most._

_Your Clara._

_*_

 

Clara heard the front door slammed downstairs, followed by a commotion in the foyer leading into the dining room. The Maitland Munchkins were home. Mr Maitland had an important meeting to tend to after school hours, and had rang up the old babysitter earlier today to ask if she could watch over the kids for a bit.

Clara quickly brushed away the last tear rolling down her cheek, and rushed into the bathroom to give her face a good splash to get rid of the teary residues. She noticed her pink eyes and pink button nose. Before the tears welled up again, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.

“Clara, we’re home!” Angie yelled up the stairs. Clara heard the television goes on.

Without replying, Clara stepped back into her room, gave the letter she just wrote one last glance, and dabbed with the hem of her skirt the tearstains that had fallen onto the paper while she was writing. She could hear footsteps coming up the stairs now. Swiftly, she folded the papers as neatly as the lacked of time would allow her, and slipped them into an envelope – a TARDIS blue envelope. At the front, she marked down in shaky handwriting, “The Doctor”, without an address to send to.

Clara had just chucked the sealed envelope into her desk drawer, when her bedroom door burst open and Angie stood at the threshold.

“Can we order pizza now?” She asked with a slight frown on her face.

“Now?” Clara glanced at the clock by her bed. “It’s only 4:30.”

“I know, but I’m hungry and Artie hasn’t stopped going on about pizzas since our bus ride home from school!” Angie huffed, leaning against the doorframe.

Clara rolled her eyes and a smile broke on her face.

“Oh, alright then,” she said, pushing Angie down the hallway. “I don’t suppose Artie already knows what pizza he wants?”

“Have you been crying, Clara?” Angie asked as they made their way down the stairs. “Your eyes look puffy, and your nose is all red.”

“Ah, just got a bit of a cold – nothing to worry about!” Clara replied without missing a beat, as they walked into the living room. “Now, Artie, since you’re the one who suggested pizza at 4:30, how about you be the one to make the call, yea?”

Good ol’ Clara.

 

_*_

 

_Good ol’ Clara,_ The Doctor thought with a smile, as he watched Clara shooed Angie out of her bedroom. _That’s my Clara._

The Doctor sat where he was in Clara’s room, the empty armchair right next to her bed, the bed where he had carried her to after a Spoonhead had failed to “upload” her onto their server. Where he had brought her a jug of water, a vase of flowers and a plate of Jammie Dodgers.

He sat on the chair, and made sure that the people downstairs were too occupied amongst themselves to notice the slightest of slight creaks as he made his way towards Clara’s desk.

The Doctor could hear the Maitland Munchkins arguing over what flavour of pizzas they should get for their 4:30 cravings – well, 4:45 now. Quietly, he pulled open the top drawer, where Clara had carelessly flung in her latest letter to The Doctor. A lump grew in his throat as he scanned the contents of the drawer, and he tried to swallow it. He ran his fingers over her handwriting of “The Doctor” on the envelope, and thought he could still feel the warmth of her tears inside the envelope.

He pulled the drawer further out, and his hand hovered over the recent letter, and the many more Clara had written and thrown into this drawer since they last saw each other. All the envelopes in TARDIS blue, all marked on the front “The Doctor” in her neat handwriting, and all without an address to send to. Clara’s undelivered letters to her Doctor.

And The Doctor has read them all, every single letter, every single word, as Clara shed every single tear writing them. He had read them all as Clara wrote them, read them all as every new sentence flowed onto the paper.

Every time Clara returned from another adventure with Twelve, she would sit down at her desk, and write a letter to her Doctor – and he would be standing close behind her, reading over her shoulder every word as the pen hits the paper.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if The Doctor was still around? What if The Doctor was still - here?

Clara stepped out of the restaurant, and into the cold, and it hit her, as harsh as the autumnal wind that night, that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all, going on a date with Danny Pink. Maybe it was still too soon. I mean, look at the mess she had made back there! The awful things that came spilling out of her mouth; they were all totally unforgiveable.

She let out an audible sigh, and started massaging the sides of her forehead. Clara Oswald, who had fought aliens light years away and that were out of this world – this Universe, even! – without much of a fuss, and here she was, cocking up something as basic and as simple as a first date!

_Unbelievable!_ She berated herself. She let out another exhale, and opened the eyes she did not realised she had closed in the first place.

The steam from her breath disappeared into the September night air, and her heart stopped just before a red bus passed by in front of her on the road.

She held her breath unknowingly, her eyes fixated on the spot she had inadvertantly looked at, until the double decker drove by. Then, she blinked a few times, the evening’s ambiance around her suddenly back in the normal volume, and her eyes still fixed on that spot under the tree across the road from the restaurant. There was nothing there.

Clara normalised her breath again, and pulled the collar of her coat further up her neck. She stared at the spot for a few seconds longer, before she shook that instant image out of her head, and started her walk home, ignorant of Danny, who was still inside the restaurant, with his head downcast on the table.

_I must be going crazy,_ she thought to herself. _It’s just – impossible._

Impossible, really. Because for a moment there, right across the road from the restaurant, Clara thought she saw The Doctor, standing there, looking back at her.

Not Twelve. _Her_ Doctor.

 

*

 

_Too soon, too soon, too soon!_ The Doctor said to himself, as he paced frantically back and forth, glancing in between every one or two steps towards the restaurant where Clara – his Clara – was sitting, her back towards him, with another man.

Wasn’t it just yesterday Clara was writing that letter to him, telling him that she still missed him? Or was that weeks ago, even months ago? The Doctor wasn’t sure anymore. All this time travelling stints he had been doing had blurred out his concept of proper time.

But still, it was too soon – for him. He stopped in his steps, and looked at the couple inside the restaurant, just as this man called Danny Pink threw his head back and gave a hearty laugh. The Doctor tried to remember the last time Clara made him laugh this hard – if there was ever such a time. He caught sight of Clara’s body shaking with laughter, and wondered to himself, if he had ever made her laugh this much.

_I swear, it was just – yesterday…_ The Doctor thought longingly.

Do humans forget so easily? Was _he_ this forgettable?

The Doctor was not sure if he wanted to know the answers to those questions.

He must have been standing out in the cold for hours, (lost track of time, after all), and the next thing he knew, Clara had stepped out of the restaurant on her own, leaving Danny Pink all by his lonesome self inside, dropping his head rather heavily and loudly onto the surface of the dining table – so loud that The Doctor could have sworn he heard the obscene thud from across the road.

The Doctor was not sure how long he had been wrapped up in his own thoughts, sulking over how soon things had moved on, and if it were, in fact, just yesterday, he was standing over Clara, reading the letter she wrote for him – when suddenly, he caught Clara staring back at him from across the street.

Both his hearts must have stopped beating right there and then, and he quickly ducked behind the tree he was standing under. Slipped off the concept of time, and he had risked revealing himself to Clara.

It wasn’t until The Doctor felt his heartbeats regulating to the normal pace, when he finally bucked up the courage to peek out from behind the tree. Clara was gone. Maybe she hadn’t seen him after all. Watching Danny Pink still thudding his head against the table, The Doctor could breathe easy again.

That was, of course, until he heard the faint sound of the wheezing noise he had gotten familiar with throughout his lifetime, and the TARDIS materialised from thin air right outside of the restaurant.

Despite every part of his being begging him to turn the other way, lest he wanted to run into the bigger risk of being spotted by _himself_ , he saw Clara emerging from the TARDIS, and practically pranced her way into the restaurant again. The Doctor somehow found himself crossing the street instead, walking towards the restaurant.

The next thing he knew, he was standing right outside of the entrance, the door barely closed behind Clara after she had walked in. He watched as Clara took the seat across the table from Danny Pink again, and the man lifted his head up from the table. Before long, they were talking again, smiling to each other again – _laughing_ again!

_And why did she look so nervous?_ The Doctor speculated as Clara was wringing her hands under the table. She wasn’t like that when they first met; heck, Clara Oswald practically shooed him out of her front porch when they first met. She wasn’t at all – nervous. She wasn’t that either when they finally got to talking later that evening of their first meeting, after he had gotten rid of the Spoonhead, and made sure she was out of harm’s way for the rest of the night, by parking himself and the TARDIS in front of her house. In fact, she didn’t even bat an eyelash, (despite some hesitation to step into the “Snog Box”, as she referred to the TARDIS then), when he practically pushed her into the blue box.

Good ol’ Clara, she was. So brave.

“So, what are you up to now, Clara Oswald?” The Doctor murmured to himself, his eyes never leaving the couple, who seemed to have picked up where the last Clara had left off.

“Not sure myself,” The Doctor almost jumped out of his skin, when someone whom had crept up behind him answered his question. “She practically begged me to come back here to this exact moment!”

The Doctor spun around quickly, almost losing his footing, and his eyes went wild and wide when he saw whom it was – _himself_.

Only, not really himself – _another_ himself. Older, wrinkler, greyer – himself.

_Really! Of all the faces and bodies I could’ve regenerated into – this old geezer?_ The Doctor wanted to say out loud to – himself. But he caught himself before he did, because no, no, no, no, no – _he_ can’t know that he is _him_. That sentence alone was confusing enough; imagine the look on this poor man’s face if he found out who he really was!

“Who are you?” Twelve asked, cocking an eyebrow suspiciously at The Doctor.

_Scottish, really?_ The Doctor went on in disbelief before he could stop himself.

“I said, who are-” Twelve interrupted The Doctor’s thoughts.

“A friend!” The Doctor – Clara’s Doctor, blurted out. (But hold on, technically, they were both Clara’s Doctor). “I’m – uh – Clara’s friend.”

“Friend?”

“From work.”

“Work?”

“Yes, from school, see.”

“Clara’s friend from work, school, see?”

_Gosh, I’ve gotten rather daft, haven’t I?_ The Doctor thought.

“Yes,” The Doctor played along, despite Twelve already showing signs that he was not buying anything that he was saying.

“I-I saw Clara walking into the restaurant, so I, uh, I decided to – spy on her, and a-ha! See! There she is – with – that other teacher guy from work, school. Mister – _mistermistermister_ -”

“Pink?”

“Pink – yes!” The Doctor exclaimed, snapped his fingers and pointed at Twelve. “Peeee-ink! Yes, that’s the one. Mr Pink.”

_Oh, blimey, I’ve better get out of here._ The Doctor thought. _Any minute now, the world is going to collapse on itself, and the whole universe would cease to exist!_

“Right, yes, so now that I’ve discovered Clara’s secret – oh, yes, oh yes,” The Doctor stammered, his eyes darting behind Twelve’s head for an escape route. “I better be off! Tell someone. Start – erm – _gossiping_. Yes, yes – gossiping. That’s what humans do. I better go gossip about it to someone at work, school.”

The Doctor was already a few feet away from Twelve when the latter Doctor called out: “So, I shouldn’t tell her then that you were – spying on her?”

“No!” The Doctor pivoted around, eyes wide like saucers at the thought of Twelve telling Clara about his existence. “No, no, no – not at all! Mustn’t – _mustn’t_ let Clara know.”

This time, before he could catch himself, he tapped the side of his nose unknowingly twice. Twelve stared back rather bewildered, as if something just crawled out of the memory bank in his head, and was just about to take form.

_Oh, now you’ve done it!_ The Doctor balled up his fist, and tried hard not to slap his forehead in front of – himself. He practically ran down the rest of the block, turned the corner and disappeared out of sight from Twelve.

 

*

 

_September 13, 2014_

_Doctor,_

_I saw you today. Well, not_ you _you. I mean, I see you all the time now anyway, with Twelve, but you know. What I meant was – I saw a younger you. When you were a child. I could link with the TARDIS telepathically now, (I still remember the days when you were trying so hard to have us get along, heh), and travel through time streams just like that. Like a personalised time travel, or something. I mean, I thought we were travelling through my time stream, but it turns out – the TARDIS has latched onto The Doctor’s time stream – your time stream, and we ended up in the days when you were young._

You were hiding out in the barn, sleeping there all on your own. It must have been really early, because apparently, you have not been to the Academy just yet. You have not been officiated as a proper Time Lord.

Do you remember those days? After so many regenerations, do you still remember those nights alone in the barn?

Well. Even if you’re still around to remember it, I hope you’re not remembering the bad things about those days, but what I have told you when I was there. But I suppose, you must have remembered it; it might be tucked away in the back of your head, thrown further and further behind, as each new regeneration of yours brings forth newer adventures to remember. Because, well, you became a Time Lord, after all. I have been travelling with that once scaredy kid in the barn, seeing the Universe. I have travelled with you, who were essentially, the same scaredy boy anyway. Well, you could say that I have saved you – again! Haha.

The Impossible Girl who always saves The Doctor. I’m still saving you, after you are not – you.

Were you afraid of the dark still, when you were The Doctor? Those nights travelling on your own, and when I was not around to accompany you – were you afraid still, I wonder?

I wish you had told me, if you were. Oh, Doctor, I wish you had told me a lot of things when you were around! You never really tell me so much when you were around, did you? That’s why you had to make that silly phone call even after you have regenerated, something you could’ve done anyway before you went away.

You silly, silly Doctor!

 

*

 

“ _My_ – silly, silly Doctor,” Clara whispered to herself, and smiled sadly at the words.

After today’s adventure, Clara wished The Doctor had told her about this particular fear of his when he was still around. She would have taken care of him, much like she had done so back in time, back in the barn, with The Doctor when he was just a kid. She would have sat next to The Doctor on his bed, (if he ever had one on the TARDIS), and she would have ran her fingers through that tussled hair of his – calming him, comforting him. She would have said those things she had said to the younger Doctor.

In fact, if Clara were to be honest with herself, she was not thinking of Twelve when she was in the barn. She was thinking of her Doctor. She pretended that it was her Doctor she was saving from his own childish fear. It was her Doctor she was comforting in that old bed. It was her Doctor she was thinking of when she uttered the words: “Fear makes companions of us all.”

Because her Doctor was her companion, and with him, fear seemed to melt away for her.

But The Doctor didn’t tell Clara about his childhood fears. Not like the man whom she had gone out on a date with earlier tonight. Danny Pink had practically spilled everything to her when she stopped by his house later that night. Granted, she had worked out half of it because she had gone to see him when he was just a child, but still, he was not afraid to tell her the things that scared him and made him nervous. And Clara had comforted him by kissing him.

Her fingers touched her lips unwittingly, and she sighed ever so sadly.

_What have I done? What am I doing?_ Clara thought. _One moment, I’m kissing Danny, and the next, I’m writing a stupid letter to The Doctor!_

“Oh, what the _hell_ are you doing, Clara Oswald!” She exclaimed to herself out loud, and plumped down onto her bed, amidst her many pillows, staring up at the ceiling.

Out loud. Herself.

Then, it hit her.

Clara sat up from the bed immediately.

“What if Twelve was right?” She muttered to herself, the words of this recent Doctor running through her head.

_“It could be with us every second, and we would never know. How would you detect it, even sense it, except in those moments when, for no clear reason, you choose to speak aloud? What would such a creature want?”_

_What if there is someone around after all?_ Clara thought. _Not just someone – you._

What if Clara was not hallucinating earlier this evening, when she thought she saw The Doctor standing under the tree across the street from the restaurant? What if The Doctor was still around? What if The Doctor was still – here?

Her breath caught in her throat, and the possibility of The Doctor – _her_ Doctor – was still around made her eyes watered.

What if The Doctor were here, like she was there for him when he was a child?

Those times when she thought she was alone in her bedroom, those times when she cried herself to sleep, those times when she thought she was muttering to thin air how much she loves him, how much she misses him… What if he had been around all along, and he had heard her all this time?

Clara stood up from her bed, and stayed ever so still, almost not breathing at all. She wanted to feel that prick at the back of her neck, she wanted to feel that breath falling on the curve of her bare shoulders. She waited, and waited.

“Hello?” She called out to nobody, her voice quivering slightly, her heart beating a little too quickly. “Doctor? Doctor, are you there?”

She let out a breath.

Nothing.

A tear trickled down her cheek.

She whispered: “Are you still there?”

She waited.

Nothing.

She exhaled, and fell back onto the bed.

_Of course it’s not real,_ Clara, she berated herself.

Didn’t she just prove to Twelve that such a thing did not exist? That it was all just a childhood fear? That such a “creature” does not exist?

_If you have, how can you, right now, even think that he could still be around?_ Clara thought. _When all this while – it’s just you._

“No creature. No Doctor,” she whispered, her eyes welling up with fresh tears. “Just – you.”

 

*

 

The Doctor remembered that time when he had to come face-to-face with his deceased wife. He had never been good with goodbyes; that was why he had put off saying goodbye to River for as long as he could.

Now, standing in Clara’s bedroom, face-to-face with her, he feared that the time has come to say goodbye to her.

For the longest time, River had been with him after her death, talking to him, reasoning with him. And for the longest time, The Doctor had been ignoring her, pretending she was not there. Now, the tables had turned, and he was the one being ignored. Even though he was still the one who hated endings, and would rather be the one ignoring Clara when feelings got too much to bear. Now, he could not dismissed Clara even if he wanted to. He had to stand face-to-face with Clara as she proclaimed into seeming thin air, “Doctor, are you there?”

Now, he had to see her, while she could not.

_Karma,_ he thought. _That’s what the humans called it._

Even though he was not entirely sure if he deserved it.

The Doctor was there, when Clara returned from the TARDIS, after another adventure with Twelve. Something about getting rid of his childhood fear, from what he had gathered from the unfinished letter Clara left on the desk. And he was there, when Clara did not rush back home to write the letter, but instead, went the long way to Danny Pink’s house.

The Doctor was there, through the windowpane that overlooked into the living area, watching Clara talking to Danny Pink. He was there, when Clara leaned in and kissed him.

And that really, really hurt.

It stung even more when he watched over Clara’s shoulder as she finally got home to start the letter to him, watched as she addressed him as only “Doctor”, instead of the usual “My Doctor”.

_Too soon, too soon,_ The Doctor thought.

He could see the lingering hope in Clara’s eyes when she called out to him, and in her heart, he could feel her wishing so hard that she was not alone, that perhaps he was still with her.

It was so strong, the urge to disable the invisibility filter, and reveal himself. The urge to breathe down the back of her neck, just to let her know that he was around. The urge to reach out, and touch her bare shoulders.

But he could not.

As Clara whispered, “are you still there?”, The Doctor could only hold his breath.

The moment passed, and Clara sunk back down onto her bed, familiarising herself again with the loneliness. He felt his hearts shattered all over again.

The Doctor stood in the middle of the bedroom, looking down at Clara for the longest time, until sleep finally took her. Only then, he looked down at the vortex manipulator wrapped around his wrist – the one tangible gift River left behind for him, and punched in the correct time and space coordination.

The next time he looked up, he was back in the basement of the clock tower, surrounded by drawings of him by the local children, and their broken toys that he had not gotten around just yet to fix. He was back in the town called Christmas. He was back in Trenzalore.

The Church of Papel Mainframe was still up there, biding their time. And the many spacecrafts of his foes were still sending down fleets of armies to attack the quaint little village The Doctor had learned to call home. What would become a 300-year long war, was then still ongoing for The Doctor. And he had just sent Clara back to Earth for Christmas for the second time – some months ago.

The Doctor looked towards the glowing crack on the wall, the fell voices still taunting him with the one question he refused to answer. Pushed up against that particular wall, was a writing desk he had salvaged from the village. For some time now, he had been using the light from the cracked wall as his sourced of lighting in the dark basement. It came in quite handy, especially in the town of Christmas, where daytime only happens for a few minutes a day.

On his desk was his writing stationery, for The Doctor had too been writing letters to Clara, letters he doubted he would ever send out to her. He must have written twice as many letters to Clara during his days in Christmas, just as Clara had been penning down hers from her bedroom far, far away.

The Doctor sat down at the desk, and pulled out a box from underneath. Inside were all the letters he had ever written to Clara, all sealed in red envelopes, with her name and address marked on the cover. He fished out a stack of them, and carefully flipped through them one by one, staring at his almost identical handwriting on each envelope: _Clara Oswald, Clara Oswald, Clara Oswald…_

There was a time when The Doctor thought that one of these days, he was going to find a way to send the letters to her. Have the letters scattered throughout her time stream, waiting to be found at the most unusual places. Clara would always know how to find The Doctor.

But now, he was not so sure anymore if they were to be delivered in the unforeseeable future. In fact, he was not sure either if he should even continue writing more letters to her, telling her about the adventures here in Christmas, and the misadventures he has with the local villagers. The Doctor was beginning to realise that they would not matter anymore.

How silly of him, to think that Clara would still think of him after he has left. How silly of him, to think that Clara would love him – forever. Memories of The Doctor were beginning to fade for Clara, and with them, The Doctor himself.

The Doctor sighed aloud, replaced the stack of letters back into the box. He shut the lid, and with his foot, pushed it into the furthest back corner under his desk. He almost wished that if he were to kick further enough, the box would somehow slip through the wall with the crack, and fall into another universe – disappear.

But instead, he heard the dull thud of the box hitting the wall underneath. With that, he snapped out of his thoughts, and picked up the broken doll sitting within arm’s length from him to mend it. Juliana would be missing her favourite doll soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve was right though, when he said: “That was me allowing you to make a choice about your own future.” And just like that, finally, she made a choice.

Clara wrote her last letter to The Doctor that night. She signed off with “Your Clara” for the last time, sealed the TARDIS blue envelope for the last time, and wrote “The Doctor” on the front for the last time. This time, she placed her lips on the name that was not The Doctor’s real name, and laid the small package down on her writing desk.  
  
And that was it.  
  
Clara dropped herself down on her bed, her head swimming with the emotional events that had taken place earlier today. Emotions that have ignited a certain fire inside of her to do something that she had not the courage to do, and emotions that pushed her to write those last words to The Doctor.  
  
All it took was a trip to the moon in the near future, when the moon was about to “hatch”, and potentially, destroy the life cycle of Earth in less than an hour. All it took was for Twelve to, once again, slither away in his TARDIS, taking no responsibility of the current situation at hand. All it took was for him to place the entire future of the entire human race on her small hands – hands her Doctor once called beautiful, and kissed so affectionately, forcing her to make a decision she was not sure it was her place or her power to make in the first place.  
  
_I’m just a bloody school teacher from Coal Hill, for crying out loud!_ Clara could still hear the echoes of her screams inside her head as the clock ticked on, and the lights slowly but surely went off the face of the Earth.  
  
That was all it took to finally decide that she had had enough of time travelling and The Doctor. Once, when The Doctor offered her the Universe, she had been young and naïve to say yes and had followed him wherever he went. Perhaps it was because back then, The Doctor was young and charming, with tussled hair and a dimpled smile; who wouldn’t want to run away with a Time Lord who looked like that? But now, all the stars at the furthest corners of the world do not thrill her anymore. More so, this time around, The Doctor was a grumpy old man, who would rather designate responsibilities than taking it up on his own.  
  
It was time to move on. High time.  
  
Danny told her not to make any decision when she was feeling so angry at The Doctor, but maybe that was all Clara needed to take the next step: anger. This strong emotion to fuel a kind of courage in her to walk away from something she knew she would not have the strength to otherwise. Since her Doctor left, everything that had to do with the TARDIS and time travelling and The Doctor was already slowly losing its meaning. That day and all its adventures with The Doctor drew the last straw in her, and made her realised that maybe there is no reason to carry on anymore.  
  
It was beginning to dawn on Clara that the reason she still helped Twelve like The Doctor had asked her to, was because a part of her still believed that her Doctor lives inside of Twelve. That one fine day, his clumsy antics and cheeky smile would fall through the cracks on this old wrinkly face, and The Doctor she had known would come back.  
  
Silly, silly Clara!  
  
“Well, you know him,” Courtney, her student from Coal Hill, who had so innocently hopped on this latest adventure with The Doctor, without knowing the risk at hand, especially the risk of making a lifelong decision for humankind, and even came close to getting herself killed, had said.  
  
But all Clara could think about during that fragment of a second was: “Not this one. I don’t know this Doctor.”  
  
The Doctor was gone. Her Doctor was gone. It was time she finally accepted the fact, and moved on.  
  
Besides, it wasn’t such a bad idea either, moving on. Most people did not have the courage to move on, even though the crumbling present was eating them alive from the inside, was because it is scarier to put your first step out into a dark and unknown world. Most people were afraid of what was to come, because they drew up blank when they think about the future. But not for Clara; she already knew where she would be walking towards if and when she leaves The Doctor – Danny.  
  
Danny was already there, waiting for her to come back, to commit to him fully. The Doctor was a spaceship with promises of a beautiful Universe, but now, they were rarely ever true. Danny was a cruiseline with promises of a beautiful island, and it was so. There wasn’t much contemplation there, really.  
  
Clara had said her goodbyes with Twelve when she told him to go away, and stormed out of the TARDIS for what seemed like the last time. Now, she had said her goodbyes to The Doctor.  
  
There wasn’t really any point either now to continue writing all those letters. It wasn’t as if he would be around to read them anyway, and that included this last letter she just penned down.  
  
Twelve was right though, when he said: “That was me allowing you to make a choice about your own future.” The trick he pulled on the moon might not felt like it, but right now, it was everything. And just like that, finally, she made a choice.

 

*

 

Little did Clara know that The Doctor was not around anymore when she wrote that letter. He wasn’t there anymore, looking over her shoulder at every word she wrote. He wasn’t around to even know that the last letter has been written.  
  
The Doctor remained in Trenzalore that night, fixing another broken toy.  
  
Unaware to Clara, The Doctor had already said his goodbyes long before today’s adventures on the moon, long before the last letter was written.

 

*

 

“Oh, I really made a mess of things this time, didn’t I, ol’ girl?” Twelve said out loud inside the TARDIS, shortly after Clara stormed out and he had set the TARDIS in motion into space again.  
  
The TARDIS seemed quiet now that she was gone. Clara wasn’t always around before, and the TARDIS had been quiet to begin with, but this time, when everything had reached its final point, the surrounding just seemed even quieter now, if that was even possible. Every buzz and every wheeze of the engine was amplified, and Twelve started rummaging about the console, wondering if he had ever installed a volume equaliser to soften this sudden blares all about him.  
  
“Guess it’s just you and me again now,” Twelve muttered to himself, his hands and eyes still searching about for that volume switch unwittingly. “The bitter old man, and his blue box.”  
  
It was almost at that exact moment, when the TARDIS fired up something on screen that caught Twelve’s attention. The long list of coordination flowed, and the archive of photos blinked. Photos that were extracted from Clara’s memories, when she was connected with the TARDIS through the telepathic circuit, a few adventures back. Memories in images aside from the ones on Danny Pink and Twelve.  
  
Twelve gasped.  
  
“It’s you! It was you!” He exclaimed, when the face in the many pictures finally made sense to him. “It was – me!”  
  
Grey areas, he called them. Little pocket universes of his memories he could not retrieve at times. All he remembered from his last self was the bowtie, which he found a bit embarrassing. That man wasn’t wearing a bowtie when Twelve caught him outside of the restaurant, supposedly spying on Clara. But now, everything clicked in his head, and so did the possible conflict that would combust in his face if he were to come face-to-face with himself.  
  
“Oh, you stupid, _stupid_ Doctor!” Twelve scolded, not at himself, even though it was himself he was berating – a much younger himself, and that he was the only himself in the TARDIS at the time to receive the scolding. “What have you done?”  
  
Before Twelve could figure out what to do next, the TARDIS thrusted forward and threw him onto the ground. The machine had latched onto a suitable coordination and was diving head first and in full speed towards it like the Devil was chasing her from behind. Twelve had just struggled onto a proper footing when the TARDIS threw him off again, having already reached the destination even before Twelve could see where they were going – heck, even before Twelve could _agree_ where they were going!  
  
“What’s the matter with you, girl?” Twelve shouted. “Where have you brought me to?”  
  
But before Twelve could continue on his strings of angry words at the TARDIS, a block of dizziness hit him and he felt like he was freefalling into nothingness. He looked around him despite the sudden headache splitting his brains apart; he was not outside in deep space, but instead, still within the confinements of the TARDIS. Still lying on the floor, in fact. Swirls of gold lit up the TARDIS and filled up the interior of the blue box.  
  
“What’s going on? What are you doing?” Twelve asked, growing a little more afraid as time continued on, seemingly for a long while.  
  
Then, as suddenly as he was thrown into the whirlwind, he was spat right back out. The headache was gone, and Twelve could feel the ground he was laying upon. The golden swirls disappeared into the console, and everything was back to normal – or so Twelve thought.  
  
Twelve quickly scrambled onto his feet and pulled a lever that he assumed would stop the TARDIS from doing again what she had just done.  
  
“What’s the matter with you?” He yelled up at the ceiling. “You’ve never behaved like this before. What’s gotten into you?”  
  
Twelve turned his attention to the screen to find out where the TARDIS had brought him. But the coordinations didn’t make sense at all. I mean, it made sense in his head, the time and the place, but at the same time, it was just simply – impossible.  
  
See, the TARDIS had taken matters into her own hands, and accessed a time stream memory in her archive – one that belonged particularly to Clara, obtained when she formed a telepathic link with the TARDIS, Whilst a fragment of a second’s distraction had caused them to go off course, ending up in Danny Pink’s past instead, the TARDIS had managed to go through the entirety of her memories, which included the ones of her with the previous Doctor.  
  
Now, the TARDIS would have simply dismissed a memory if it were just a faint glow at the back of Clara’s mind. But this series of memories, they burned bright, shining at the forefront of her mind. It did not take long for the TARDIS to figure things out, (in fact, it took her no time at all), and she had been bidding her time to finally reveal to Twelve what she had found out.  
  
So, when Twelve mentioned to her the big mess he had made when it comes to Clara, it was the first and only thing the TARDIS was dying to show her thief.  
  
“No, no, no, no – you shouldn’t have done that!” Twelve said, his crooked fingers already pressing about the control system, getting ready to get them out of where the TARDIS had brought them.  
  
“You were bloody merging with your own self from a different time, weren’t you? That was what all those swirly goldy things were about, wasn’t it? You’re not supposed to do that! Do you have any idea what you have done!”  
  
Twelve pressed buttons and pulled levers and turned winders, but the TARDIS was relentless. Yes, she had in fact merged into another version of herself from another time and space, but truth be told, she had done so knowing that no serious harm would come to herself or The Doctor or even the universe. The TARDIS may regenerate as The Doctor does, but at the same time, in the slowest ways a slightly malfunctioned Type-40 TARDIS could go, she was also going through series of evolutions in her own time.  
  
If she had a mouth, she would have told Twelve that she was perfectly aware of what she had done and the consequences of it, which was none. Alas, she could just sit about and let things finally sink into The Doctor’s head. If the TARDIS had a mouth, she would also mention that it was taking The Doctor longer and longer to get things figured out in his head. Regenerations do that to a Time Lord, she would suppose, if she had a speaking mind to suppose things.  
  
Twelve was still mucking about with the controls in a frenzy, when he heard amidst the clatters and tinkles the turn of the lock at the front door of the TARDIS. His eyes went wide; who could possibly have the keys to the TARDIS on this side of the universe?  
  
_Unless…_  
  
The answer hit him, right at the exact moment the door was pushed open, and the person walking in exclaimed out loud into the supposed empty box: “How are we today, ol’ girl?”  
  
The man stopped mid-step while crossing the bridge, when he caught sight of Twelve hanging about the console. His eyes, too, went wide.  
  
“You!” Twelve gasped.  
  
“Y-You!” The man echoed in likewise astonishment.  
  
It was like looking in the mirror, only the reflection was a totally different one. It was a reflection of Twelve’s younger self, his previous reincarnation – with longer dishevelled hair falling in his face, younger and livelier eyes, a lankier body frame, wearing suspenders and topped off with a bowtie and a – is that a bloody fez on his head?  
  
“What have you done?” The Doctor, Eleven, gasped at Twelve, the light in his eyes shimmering of the things that would happen if they were exposed to each other’s presence.  
  
“What have _I_ done?” Twelve spat back. “What have _you_ done!”  
  
If the TARDIS had a mouth, she would mention as well that when Eleven was around, he wasn’t as quick a thinker as she would like either.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your TARDIS?” Twelve smirked at that statement. “What makes you think this is your TARDIS?”

“What are you doing here?” Eleven asked Twelve sternly, as he started pacing about the TARDIS, eyes fixated on the other Doctor. “What are you – and how did you even get here?”  
  
“Me?” Twelve retorted, slightly flustered himself. Alright, perhaps not slightly at all. “I didn’t do anything! I should be asking you questions – like why did you bring me here?”  
  
“I didn’t bring you here,” Eleven snapped back. “You think I enjoy having another – _Doctor_ – in my TARDIS?  
  
“ _Your_ TARDIS?” Twelve smirked at that statement. “What makes you think this is _your_ TARDIS?”  
  
“Well, of course it’s my TARDIS!” Eleven replied. “I parked it here where I have always parked it, and you – _you_ just came out of nowhere and – and –” he gestured with his hands to something alike of a magical poof. “In _my_ TARDIS!”  
  
“Well, you’re dead, why would you need a TARDIS?”  
  
“Not in this world, I’m not dead – yet. So, yes, of course I still need a TARDIS here.”  
  
“Well, I’m sorry to break it to you, boy –”  
  
“Boy?! You’re calling me – _boy_?!”  
  
“Yes, not only because you are The Doctor _before_ me, hence making you younger than me, and not to mention,” Twelve stomped up towards Eleven and knocked the fez off his head.  
  
“Oyy!”  
  
“Your outfit is stupid!” Twelve concluded. “Only a _boy_ would wear such _silly_ clothes.”  
  
“Yeah, like yours is that much cooler, eh?” Eleven sneered back. “What have you got to show off with those – flaps of yours, your wide hips?”  
  
“My – hips – aren’t – wide!” Twelve retorted in return. “Compared to that sizeable chin of yours, I’m getting quite confused whether I should address the chin or the rest of your face!”  
  
“Well, you –”  
  
Before Eleven could utter another word to instigate Twelve further on their bickering, the TARDIS gave the entire box one great shake, and down fell her two Doctors on the ground, snapping them back into reality.  
  
Then, the TARDIS grew quiet, her engines calming down, and all that could be heard within the TARDIS was the heavy breathing of the two Doctors.  
  
“I-I think that’s her way of telling us to – shut up,” Twelve concluded, barely catching his breath.  
  
“Oh, I do miss the one time when you could actually just say that out loud, ol’ girl, instead of – _shaking_ us up!” Eleven said in between breaths, a smile already breaking upon his lips.  
  
The TARDIS turned the lever one, two times on her own, signalling The Doctors to stop bickering like little children, and focus on the matter at hand. The two Doctors exchanged a mutually understood look, and got up from the ground – quietly and tiredly.  
  
After travelling with The Doctor for so many regenerations and so many more thousands of years, the TARDIS could very well get The Doctor to behave, if she wanted to. The TARDIS had never had two Doctors inside of her at the same time, whom both believed they were in charge of her current model, so she never had to, well, put her foot down, as the saying goes with aliens and humans with feet. Now that has happened, she could but give the blue box one great stomp, like a foot being put down.  
  
And the TARDIS was quite pleased that it worked. If she had a mouth now, it would be curved into a smug smile.

 

*

 

“So, have you actually figured out why you’re – here?” Eleven finally bucked up the courage to ask, after sitting around in the longest awkward pause ever, catching their breath and perhaps, partly hoping the TARDIS wouldn’t throw another fit to shut them up. “Because I certainly did not bring you here.”

“I don’t know,” Twelve heaved a heavy sigh. “Believe me, I don’t want to be here either.”  
  
“So, what, are you telling me the TARDIS just – latched on to a coordinate and fly you here, without your consent?” Eleven asked.  
  
“Y-You could say that,” Twelve replied hesitantly in a slightly lowered tone.  
  
“You – can’t even control your TARDIS?” Eleven raised his eyebrows at Twelve, slightly amused with what he was hearing. “The TARDIS just – kidnapped you?”  
  
“She did _not_ kidnap me!” Twelve shot back in defiance, and glared at Eleven. “And I can definitely control my TARDIS – I just – wasn’t able to set the controls right before she – flew off.”  
  
Eleven sniggered.  
  
“Oh, shut up!”  
  
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Eleven put both his hands up in mock surrender. “It wouldn’t have been your TARDIS if she’s behaving like this. So – _my_ TARDIS. Told ya!”  
  
Just then, the TARDIS started wobbling again, ready to break out the big guns like she did just moments ago. The Doctors immediately tightened their grips on the railings.  
  
When she seemed to have “calmed down” again, Twelve said: “Well, if she’s not mine, I don’t think she likes you calling her your TARDIS either.”  
  
Eleven shot him a look. Twelve mimicked Eleven by raising up his hands in surrender, and giving him a shrug. “Just saying!”  
  
Eleven pursed his lips, and swung himself up from the floor. He fished out his sonic screwdriver from the inner pockets of his coat, and started scanning the control system. Twelve too got up from the floor, and did the same thing. Eleven took a peek from the corner of his eye, and noticed that the other Doctor had the exact same screwdriver as he, and he could not help in suppressing a snigger.  
  
“What now?” Twelve sighed, eyes still fixed on the tip of his glowing screwdriver, scanning the console, and up and down the rotund.  
  
“Your screwdriver looks the same,” Eleven said, going on still with his own diagnostic. “Not much originality, is there?”  
  
Before Twelve could even utter a reprisal, Eleven flicked his sonic screwdriver and squinted at the readings.  
  
“Now,” his voice seemed to boom in the almost quiet surrounding. “There’s nothing wrong with the ol’ girl. Everything is working fine. In fact, she’s working more than fine, seeing that she managed to merge into another version of herself from another time and space, even getting us in each other’s presence for more than what, hours – without causing the entire universe to collapse. Oh, you sure have evolved into something – beautiful!”  
  
“But, why,” Eleven added, leaning down so his face was inches away from the control panels. “Why did you come here, girl?”  
  
“Maybe she misses you,” Twelve replied.  
  
“Aww, bless,” Eleven smiled and stroked the console. “Wait – what? Miss me?”  
  
“She was going through a telepathic link from her archive, and a series of photos of you and your whereabouts came up,” Twelve nodded towards the main screen, and Eleven scrambled over to see what it was. “She actually caught your coordinates, and just went flying towards it before I could stop her.”  
  
Eleven’s brows furrowed at the screen, perplexed at the photos displayed in front of him. There were photos of him – many, many photos of him: That time when he had parked the TARDIS in the clouds, and he showed Clara for the first time, the insides of the seemingly small police box. That time when he parked the TARDIS and himself outside of Clara’s house, to keep an eye out of invading Spoonheads. That time when they were floating amidst the Rings of Akhaten, and at the right moment, revealed the pyramid where supposedly a God was sleeping in. That time when they were trapped in the belly of the TARDIS. That time when they had gone to the defunct Hedgewick’s World of Wonders and his head was invaded by one Mr Clever… The archive just went on and on and on.  
  
Since the start of the display, Eleven also noticed, rather jarringly that every photo in the series, there was Clara, and they were all commemorations of the adventures they had gone on while he had her as his companion. Not only that, the photos were not from the point of view of the TARDIS – it was from Clara’s. These were, in fact, all her memories.  
  
“H-How did she get all that?” Eleven asked. “You mentioned a telepathic link, what telepathic link, and how did the TARDIS managed to hook onto Clara’s memories?”  
  
“We had a – run in, of sorts, with a creature – also of sorts,” Twelve began to explain, just as the reason of him being where Eleven was started to dawn in his head. “The TARDIS and Clara were joined in a telepathic circuit, so that we could go back in time specifically only in her timeline. And – I guess there was where the TARDIS found all these memories of you.”  
  
“I mean, to be honest, I never really thought much of you when I saw you outside the restaurant that day, but then – these pictures. I have grey areas, you see, in my memory bank and it just occurred to me that you are – me!”  
  
Twelve had blabbered on after that, but Eleven had tuned him out almost as soon as he started. All he could see now were Clara – pictures of Clara – together with him.  
  
_Clara! My Clara!_ He could still hear himself say as he pulled her close to his chest. How her eyes shone when she saw her in his collapsing timeline, and started running towards him.  
  
_Miss me, did ya?_ The echo of Clara’s voice rang true in his head, the day he saved her from the demise of Sweetville.  
  
_We’re not safe right now!_ The fear that quivered in her voice, when he had once refused to tell her what had been roaming about inside the TARDIS, and how his heart broke when Clara was telling him she does not feel safe, even though she was standing next to him.  
  
_Run, you clever boy, and remember…_ The one he had heard three times from three different versions of Clara in three different dimensions in time.  
  
_You are the only mystery worth solving…_  
  
_No, no… Please don’t change…_  
  
“It’s not the TARDIS,” Eleven finally said, as he reached out and touched Clara’s face on the screen. “It’s not the TARDIS who misses me.”  
  
“It’s Clara,” Twelve finished his sentence. “She misses you.”  
  
Eleven looked up at him. The other Doctor merely gave a tight but sad smile.

 

*

 

Clara was still not entirely sure why she lied to Danny – or even Twelve, for that matter – in the first place. After fighting off an invisible mummy aboard the Orient Express, and getting rid of the two-dimensional leeches Twelve dubbed as “The Boneless”, not to mention, her first taste in being a Doctor, she wasn’t sure why she lied to Danny – her safer vessel, her next step.

I mean, it was not that Clara was cheating on Danny – far from it! Cheating on Danny with Twelve, a grumpy old Time Lord; that was like cancelling a date with him because she wanted to go to the museum with her grandfather.  
  
No, she wasn’t cheating, just – well, _lying_.  
  
_Great habit to start so early into a relationship, Clara Oswald!_ She scolded herself.  
  
So, maybe Danny was right; she shouldn’t have made a decision when she was emotional. Clara was so sure she would quit The Doctor and his adventures after the terrible incident on the moon, but after their supposed “last hurrah” on the Orient Express, she changed her mind once again.  
  
It wasn’t because of the invisible mummy that made her all excited about life with The Doctor again; far from that, actually. Who would want a mummy strudding towards them in the last 66 seconds before they die anyway? It wasn’t because Clara was suddenly alright with the way Twelve runs things. It’s just – it’s just –  
  
_Just what?_ Clara asked herself, racking every corner of her brain to find an answer.  
  
She threw her bag on her writing desk in exasperation, and from the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of the last letter she had written to The Doctor, still sitting neatly at the centre of the desk. And it clicked in her head.  
  
She took the seat at the desk, and picked up the letter again, her fingers at the edge of the envelope twirling it around and around, like a flattened cube in her hands.  
  
_It’s just…_ Clara tried to piece the answers in her thoughts. _He’s still there…_  
  
That “one fine day” Clara had been subconsciously hoping to see in Twelve, it happened. The hope to see her Doctor again in him, it was reignited. When they transported back into safety, away from the combusting train, when Twelve left Clara catching up on her sleep, when she saw it in her eyes when the word “heartless” was mentioned and it was associated with him… Clara saw her Doctor. Granted, Twelve did not break into a clumsy dance or his face broke out that dimpled smile, even his attempt at a joke sort of fell flat on his face, but still – Clara caught it. _Her_ Doctor.  
  
Perhaps, that was what triggered the lie when Danny called her. That fading ray of sunlight that was again brightening up in her heart. That perhaps her Doctor was still a part of Twelve after all, like he had told her through that phone call he made, long after Twelve had completed his regeneration.  
  
And Clara supposed, that was enough a reason to stay on with Twelve – and also the belief that The Doctor she loved lives on. Staying close to someone whom still had a piece of her Doctor hidden somewhere inside him – that was enough for her to keep her love for The Doctor alive.  
  
_But what about all those ‘I love you’s I’ve been telling Danny?_ Clara thought sadly. That time when she blurted it out in the first place when they were amidst danger with a Skovox, and the many more times when she would end their calls professing her love so carelessly. _Were they lies too? Or have I just been pretending it’s him still on the other end of the line?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Or maybe – she isn’t the one who needs fixing,” Twelve said. “Maybe, for once, our ol’ girl would like to fix her Doctor in return.”

No, Clara wasn’t lying to herself. Everytime she said ‘I love you’ to Danny Pink, she was never lying.  
  
The sun was about to burn off the entire Earth, and Danny and Clara had stood outside of the TARDIS, when he had told her everything she had wanted to hear to reassure herself that she does love him.  
  
“There are wonders here, Clara Oswald,” he had told her. “One person is more amazing than universes.”  
  
Right there and then, Clara Oswald knew she loves and is definitely in love with Danny Pink.  
  
It was not to say that Clara doesn’t love The Doctor anymore; she will never stop loving him. That was why she still felt an attachment with Twelve and even the TARDIS, even though she was still not entirely sure if the feelings were mutual, because they were everything that The Doctor was, the one that she loved.  
  
The Doctor – _her_ Doctor – would always have a part of her heart that no one could replace. Yes, not even Danny. But as for the other parts now, they were reserved for one Danny Pink. And Clara was finally alright with that now.  
  
There was once when she was in love, and she made the mistake of not telling him how much she loved him before he was gone. Clara was not about to make the same mistake twice. So, that morning, when she woke up and decided to call Danny, she made good sure that her boyfriend got the message – and got it loud and clear.  
  
She poured her heart out to the other end of the phone line, and spoke from the very depths of her heart: “I love you, Danny.”  
  
Clara knew now everything that she has been feeling. She just – didn’t know that death would follow so soon right after she said those words.

 

*

 

Twelve took out his sonic screwdriver, and started scanning the glowing crack on the wall. His crinkled eyes squinted at the diagnostic, and he could hear the faint calls of another world, _“Doctor who? Doctor who?”_

The Doctor was very certain that all of this – the cracked wall, the basement of the clock tower, the town called Christmas, Trenzalore – was part of his past, yet strangely, he had only the vaguest memory of them. He could not, for the life of him, remembered holing himself in this place and doing human things, like fixing broken toys for little children. I mean, there Eleven was, his past self, doing just that, confirming to him and his past was in motion, as he watched.  
  
_Grey areas,_ he concluded to himself.  
  
“So, this is what I did for 300 years?” Twelve said to Eleven, as the latter Doctor looked up from the yo-yo he was stringing, already looking slightly annoyed. “Wasting my time in a basement with a – talking wall – and pretending to be Santa Claus?”  
  
Eleven rolled his eyes, and got back to the matter at hand, muttering, “I sure grew up to be a cynical old grump, didn’t I?”  
  
“Maybe because I just spent 300 years in this hellhole being Santa’s little helper,” Twelve muttered back.  
  
Eleven heaved a frustrated sigh, and put down the yo-yo. He took off his glasses and pointed at the older him. “You know, I like the previous Doctor better. At least we got on.”  
  
Twelve merely narrowed his eyes, and took the empty seat next to Eleven. “Why, because you two share the same ugly wardrobe?”  
  
Eleven pursed his lips tight, his mind lost for words to retort at his future self. Before finally, admitting defeat in the subtlest way he could, carried on with stringing the yo-yo, and tying the end to a little ring handle so little Robert could play with it.  
  
_Well, you have always liked talking to yourself,_ Eleven thought. _Now, here you are, making childish squabbles with him!_  
  
“So, what else do you do here, besides fixing yo-yo’s?” Twelve picked up a book from the top of the pile stacked a bit askewed next to where he was sitting, and dropped it back as soon as he flipped through the entire book, causing the entire stack to topple over onto the dusty floor. “Frankly, I’m getting a bit bored now.”  
  
Eleven placed the yo-yo aside, and breathed steadily through his nostrils. “You seriously don’t remember what happened here – why I ended up staying here for 300 years?”  
  
“You know, _grey areas_ ,” Twelve shrugged, tapping the side of his head with his screwdriver.  
  
Eleven leaned forward, resting his forearms on his lap, and gave Twelve an exasperated look.  
  
“The Church of Papel Mainframe? Daleks? Cybermen? The Silence? Oh, I don’t know – every single enemy of ours from every universe of every time and space? Here – stopping me from letting another Time War come through that wall? Ring any bells?”  
  
Twelve feigned deep thought, even squinting his eyes to pretend he was thinking really, really hard, before he gave up and threw his hands up, just as Eleven did the same too.  
  
“All I can remember is that ugly fez on my head,” Twelve teased.  
  
“Really,” Eleven replied. “I spent 300 years defending this town, not to mention, the many other things I’ve done in my timeline, and you – all you remember is my bloody fez?”  
  
“What?” Twelve exclaimed. “Fezzes are cool!”  
  
With that, Eleven settled down, and a smile started tugging at the corner of his lips.  
  
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Fezzes _are_ cool.”  
  
Twelve couldn’t help but chuckled himself too, amused at how easily his former self can be humoured, once upon a time. Not now though, almost 2,000 years old now, Twelve had become hard and brittle and distant from this species he had saved all his life, and had started feeling detached from them, so much so that even if he did want to reconnect with them, he would not know where to start, or how to start.  
  
“I’d very much like to be somewhere else rather than here, believe you me,” Eleven finally said, rummaging through the box of broken toys next to his seat, trying to find the next problem to solve to bid time until the next wave of attacks come raining down on them.  
  
“What, having Christmas dinner with Clara and her family?” Twelve asked. “ _Pretending_ to be her boyfriend?”  
  
“Oyyy, shut up,” Eleven responded, pointing a normal screwdriver at Twelve. “And I thought you just said you have _grey areas_ and don’t remember much?”  
  
“Bah, comes and goes!” Twelve tapped the side of his head. “Wouldn’t count on it.”  
  
Again, Eleven began to smile. “Never did.”  
  
But soon, his smile began to fade, and Twelve noticed it. The subject had finally been brought to the surface, after tiptoeing around it since Twelve transported once again back to Trenzalore, and both Doctors knew that questions had to be asked, answers had to be revealed, and if need be, lies had to be told – which would be near impossible, as they were at the heart of the truth field, where its energy manifested the strongest.  
  
“So, how is she?” Eleven asked without looking up. His glasses were back on, and he had started on a new project lying scattered on his lap.  
  
There was no point in pretending he didn’t know whom Eleven was talking about.  
  
“Fine, fine – really,” Twelve could feel himself working a little too hard to hold himself back.  
  
The truth field was working its magic already. Twelve cast a sideway glance at Eleven, and had a very strong feeling that he knew Twelve could not lie his way out of this, even if he wanted to.  
  
“Getting along with – Mr Pink, I assume?” Eleven asked, still not looking up. If Twelve didn’t know better, he would have thought Eleven was paying a little too close an attention to a loosened wheel on a battered race car.  
  
“Well, yes, of course,” Twelve replied. “I mean, he died and became a Cyberman –” On that note, Eleven finally whipped his head up, surprised. “Long story – the Cybermen came back – can’t tell you everything.”  
  
“He had a bracelet, so he came back,” Twelve rushed to conclude. “So, everything is all dandy now.”  
  
“Yeah,” Eleven agreed, abeit sounding distant. “Dandy.”  
  
Deep down, Eleven wasn’t convinced, of course. Granted, within the truth field, one could not possibly lie about what one knows, but with enough resistance, one could get away with leaving some things unsaid. But for Twelve’s case, Eleven had a feeling that the older Doctor could not bother to elaborate, more than he would care for, really.  
  
Eleven’s thoughts were now focused entirely on Clara, even though he was still pretending to fix this broken race car, which, even Twelve would also have figured out by now, was not broken in the slightest at all.  
  
He thought about Clara when she found out Danny was dead, and he thought about her when she found out he was a Cyberman. Then, he thought about Clara the day he had to regenerate in front of her, and he thought about her when the Great Intelligence had infiltrated his time stream and was kiling him over and over again – right in front of Clara’s eyes.  
  
_Poor Clara, my Clara…_ Eleven thought. _You have to go through this again – and both times I couldn’t do anything to ease your pain._  
  
Tears were starting to blur his vision, and before they trickle down his face, Eleven sucked in a deep breath, and cleared his mind of the sad thoughts, before Twelve started noticing that something was off tangent.  
  
“Right, so,” Eleven got up from his chair and started pacing the little basement. “Danny Pink died, Danny Pink became a Cyberman, Danny Pink came back from his dead, and now everything is Danny – I mean, dandy.”  
  
Twelve cocked an eyebrow at Eleven.  
  
“So, question!” Eleven rushed to continue.  
  
“Hey, that’s my line!”  
  
“Why are you here – hmm?” Eleven ignored Twelve. He stopped in his steps and was pointing the question square at the other Doctor’s face with a basic screwdriver. “Why did you come back – again, might I add? Don’t tell me you lost control of the TARDIS again, and she got you here all on her own – again.”  
  
Twelve was lost for words for a moment, before he sighed and replied, “No, she didn’t bring me here on her own. I asked her to.”  
  
“Why – why are you here now?” Eleven pressed on. “Can’t be because you miss my company – ha.”  
  
Twelve struggled with his words, not quite sure where to begin.  
  
But Eleven was having none of it. “Well? I’m waitingggggg.”  
  
“O-OK, look – so the TARDIS can after all merge two of the events from the same timeline into one, and do it over and over again, yes?” Twelve finally blurted out, and Eleven gave a nod, still pointing the screwdriver at the other Doctor. “Now – we just have to figure out why.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Yes. Why,” Twelve said. “Why did she show us Clara’s memories from her archive, eh? Why was she so adamant in coming back to you in this particular time, to show you her memories, eh? Why?”  
  
“I-I don’t know,” Eleven hesitated, putting down the screwdriver slowly. “A malfunction, perhaps?”  
  
“Oh, I could’ve fixed up my ol’ girl on my own without a problem, she wouldn’t need to cross different time and space to get to you for that.”  
  
“Maybe I’m a better fixer,” Eleven shrugged.  
  
“Or maybe – she isn’t the one who needs fixing,” Twelve said. “Maybe, for once, our ol’ girl would like to fix her Doctor in return.”  
  
Eleven gulped, and blinked. The tears were coming back.  
  
“Maybe,” Twelve continued. “She would like to fix one Doctor, in particular.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean, wouldn’t you want to stay in a dream that keeps you happy always, when reality is that much more painful to live?

_December 25, 2014_

_My Doctor,_

_Merry Christmas, Doctor!_

_But I suppose, I should start this letter, by explaining about my last letter. I should apologise for the things I’ve said in there, which I probably did not mean half of them._

_Truthfully, I have never wanted things to end with you. I’d still like to believe that you’re out there somewhere, and that some day, I’d get to send all these letters to you, and hopefully, even see you. At least, that’s what I think I hope…_

_Silly, isn’t it? Your silly little Clara._

_Don’t mind me, it has been a rather – mentally challenging Christmas this year. What a fix Twelve has gotten us into, really! We came across these creatures called Dream Crabs, and they have sent us into quite misadventures, blurring the line between dream and reality, not really sure if we’ve really woken up from the last dream, or we were still stuck in one._

_Yes, it is as confusing as it sounds. But it’s all over now – I hope. Gosh, I don’t even know if I’m still dreaming right now, as I’m writing you this letter! (Oh dear, better not joke about that – at least not so soon)._

_But well, it does remind me of my last Christmas with you, in that town called Christmas, in a planet that revealed itself to be Trenzalore. Where you had sent me back home to my family – twice. Where you had stuck around there for 300 years. Where you had left me, and made room for Twelve to come into my life. It just got me thinking that I didn’t really spend my last Christmas with you proper – and it got me feeling sad about it, and missing you all over again._

_I told you about this guy called Danny Pink in my last letter. Well, I should’ve told you about him quite a few letters back, because he had been in my life longer than that last letter I wrote to you. But anyway, things just got rather chaotic after that letter._

_In a nutshell, I fell in love with him, he loved me in return. He died, and he became a Cyberman. Then, he died again…_

_In this induced dream I had, he was there, and despite the entrophy surrounding us then, I actually felt quite happy – a kind of happy that I never felt in the longest time. Even though I was aware that if I stay in that dream any longer, I will die. Truth be told, I was more than happy to die there in that dream. Because, at least – I was happy. I mean, wouldn’t you want to stay in a dream that keeps you happy always, when reality is that much more painful to live? For a moment there, I knew I would._

_I almost did – if not for Twelve._

_Bless that old Doctor, really. I’ve really grown to love him. I wish you’d gotten to meet him. I can only imagine the banters you two would get up to! Haha. (I mean, is it even possible for you two to meet? All your Time Lord stuff, I’m still so lost about them)._

_Anyway, we had to wake up from a couple more layers of dreams after that, and at one point, I found myself as old as Twelve! I woke up some 64 years later, all alone in my apartment, and there was Twelve, and we got to celebrating Christmas a little there. He mentioned about Danny, and how I had been doing since he last left me, (After that last letter, I kind of also quit time travelling with Twelve. It’s a long story, really – ask Twelve about it, if you ever figured out your timey wimey Time Lord formulae, heh). As it turns out, there were no other men in my life – well, no one substantial anyway, after Danny. It had always been, and will always be, only him, and you, The Doctor – and you are impossible._

_That’s the gist of things, I suppose. It’s a bit all over the place, I know. I’m still just grasping the waking life, after all. And I thought I should just write you a letter to tell you how I have been doing – if ever you are still out there, wondering how I’m doing. Only because it’s Christmas, and I’m suddenly missing you so much again…_

_Anyway, this Christmas, I’m wishing the impossible. (Us and our impossibles, huh?) I wish I got to spend one last Christmas properly with you. You actually sticking around for Christmas dinner with my family, pretending to be my boyfriend. You actually not always sending me away and spending 300 years trying to keep two worlds from colliding. Just – you and me, sitting down for a nice dinner for once, and actually get a taste of that Vortex-cooked turkey I made. Maybe even finish things off with some souffles, haha!_

_Well, a girl can dream, eh? And if she can’t dream however she likes during Christmas, when else can she?_

_This Christmas, I wish for you, my Doctor._

_Your Clara._

 

*

 

BBC Radio was playing the old Christmas hits when Clara finished her latest letter to The Doctor, and due to the universe playing a cruel trick on her, that silly old song by WHAM! was blasting through the speakers. Clara almost turned to roll her eyes at the stereo.

But instead of switching channels, she let the music filled up her bedroom. Clara got into her bed, and snuggled deep under her covers, hoping to get some proper sleep that does not lead her to unwakeable dreams or nightmares.

George Michael crooned from the radio at her bedside table: _“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart / But the very next day, you gave it away / This year, to save me from tears / I’ll give it to someone special…”_

Before long, Clara was humming along to the verses, which the lyrics she had never bothered to remember, even though she had heard the song practically her entire life. When the chorus came along, she just murmured along, singing the words – thinking about Danny, and thinking about The Doctor, wondering which one of them were her “special” one she gave her heart to, and wishing hard once again, that both of them could spend Christmas with her right now. Might be a disaster, putting her boyfriend and her pretend boyfriend under one roof, but it definitely beats being all on her own.

Danny’s first Christmas with Clara, and The Doctor’s last Christmas with her.

 

*

 

Twelve was almost dozing off at the desk, right by the cracked wall, when Eleven burst back into the basement of the clock tower in the town of Christmas, after going off for what seemed like hours.

“You’ve got to go,” Eleven said to Twelve without throwing even a glance at him.

“Oh, but we were having so much fun!” Twelve yawned, and did a bit of a stretch on the chair. He planted his two feet on the ground, and that was when his right foot kicked on something hard under the desk. “Ouch.”

“No, you really got to go,” Eleven repeated, as he scurried about the little basement, turning things over, trying to find something. “They’re coming.”

“Who’s coming?” Twelve asked, as he bent lower on the chair he was sitting to get a better look of what he had just kicked at. He squinted his eyes in the dark, but the glow from the crack on the wall threw some light his way and revealed that he had knocked over a lid box under the desk.

“The Daleks,” Eleven answered, too occupied in his search of – something, to notice Twelve pulling his box of unsent letters to Clara from under the desk. “I can’t risk them seeing you here. They might go mental, thinking I’ve allowed the Time Lords to come over from the other side. They might get you killed, and I don’t even want to know what Papel Mainframe would do to this planet, if they found out.”

“Well, maybe I could help,” Twelve replied, not quite meaning what he just said, as he lifted the lid off the box, and saw the stash of letters held within. “You know – two Doctors are better than one and all, like they said.”

“Who said? Said what?” Eleven lost track of everything: what he was looking for, what he was talking about with Twelve. He just wanted Twelve out of here, so that he could start saving the people in Christmas another time.

“Nevermind!” Eleven exclaimed, tossing everything in the air, and started towards the stairs up to the entrance of the clock tower again. “Just – go round the back way. They haven’t gone into orbit yet, so there’s still time. The TARDIS is back there – just go!”

Twelve could hear the commotion volumising above his head, and he could scarcely hear Eleven talking over the loud frantic voices, telling them to calm down and get back inside while he deals with the Daleks. It would take the Daleks only a few minutes longer to teleport down into the planet, but that was the least of Twelve’s trouble right then.

Once Eleven had disappeared upstairs, Twelve kicked the chair over and practically crawled under the desk to pull out the box of letters Eleven had hidden not so securely. Twelve would point his sonic screwdriver at the letters, but there really was no need for that, when he picked one of the letters from the stash and held it under the light of the cracked wall. Twelve picked up five more and shone the light on them, just to make sure.

They were all addressed to one person: Clara Oswald.

_Oh, for crying out loud,_ Twelve thought. _Was I such a sad sod, writing letters to my old companion?_

There was no time to sit around and wait for Eleven to return, and confront him about these letters. Twelve could already hear laser beams firing off, and explosions shaking the ground above his head, and people running about and screaming.

“EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!” Twelve could hear that familiar monotonous exclaims from one of their oldest enemies. “LOCATE THE DOCTOR AND EXTERMINATE!”

Quickly, Twelve clasped the box under his right arm and made his way out of the clock tower as fast as he could, through the back way as Eleven had told him, where he would find the TARDIS on standby, ready to transport him back to his present time.

He had reached the foyer of the clock tower, when he saw Eleven standing by the entrance, sonic screwdriver in one hand gripping firmly, waiting for the Daleks to find him.

“Are you sure you’ll be OK?” Twelve yelled at Eleven above the chaos. He was not sure why he even asked. He wasn’t about to go help Eleven fight off the Daleks with a box of letters he probably shouldn’t be smuggling out from the basement in the first place.

It was as if Twelve was throwing a bait at Eleven, urging him to catch Twelve doing something that he probably shouldn’t be doing.

“I’ve found your secret letters,” Twelve might as well had said. “Watch me as I steal them away from you, while you’re busy with the Daleks!”

“I’m fine – just go! Just don’t let them –” Eleven looked over his shoulder and stopped mid-sentence, when he saw the box tucked under Twelve’s arm. “What’s that? What’s that under your arm?”

_Uh-oh,_ Twelve thought, slightly panicking.

“Gotta go!” He exclaimed, and ran out towards the back exit, Eleven yelling after him: “Give me back the letters!”

Twelve was not sure if Eleven came after him, but he managed to get into the TARDIS, set course for his present time, and got out of Trenzalore. Eleven wasn’t hanging off the tail of his coat, or the side of the TARDIS when he materialised back on Earth, not far from where Clara’s apartment was.

 

*

 

Clara was woken up by the loud crash on top of the roof – again. She shot up straight from the bed and was on her feet almost immediately. Earlier tonight, that was how everything started – a crash on top of the roof.

She had gone up to find Santa and his two elves there bickering about a their crashed sleigh, when the TARDIS materialised, and Twelve had urged her to get on board without giving time for her to ask any questions. Could it be that she was still not out of her dreams yet, and a Dream Crab could still be sucking the life out of her on her face? Clara threw on her robe, and was hesitant in climbing up to the rooftop, in case all of the night’s adventures she had just gone through were about to begin all over again – it had been a long night, to be fair.

_And here I thought I could finally get a good night’s sleep,_ Clara sighed and made her way out of her bedroom.

Clara wavered a tad, as she turned the knob of the door leading out into the snow-covered rooftop. Hesitantly, she poked her head out into the cold, and thought she saw the last flicker of light on top of the TARDIS disappearing into thin air. She might have heard the wheezing noise the TARDIS made when it came about, but she could not be sure, especially when she was still in a sleepy daze.

She took her first step out onto the rooftop, and pulled her robes closer about her. The TARDIS was nowhere in sight.

“Doctor?” Clara called out, looking around the empty rooftop. “Doctor, are you here?”

No reply, but the drowsy stillness of late Christmas night.

Could she have just woken herself up from her sleep, thinking something had crashed on the roof? That maybe, she had just pulled herself out from a dream?

Clara was just about to dismiss everything as so, when she saw the flattened snow at the corner of the rooftop. Square and neatly packed together, like a TARDIS had just landed there. There were also footsteps leading away from the square silhouette, disappearing around the corner. Clara took careful steps closer to the footprints to see where they would lead to, and found herself standing in front of a box.

Not just any box – a Christmas box, with a bow on top of it, slightly askewed. There was a tag hanging off the ribbon, with her name written on it in a handwriting that she could not recognise.

“Strange,” Clara muttered to herself, as she picked up the box, trying to guess what was inside based on the weight of the package. It was nearly feather light, and she could hear the contents shuffling about inside when she gave it a little shake.

Clara was not expecting any Christmas presents from Twelve. She didn’t even know if he were the Christmas gifting sort. Even if he were, which apparently he was with this mysterious present he had left on the rooftop, why would he be so secretive about it? Why couldn’t he just give it to her in person? Why leave it lying around for her to find out in the cold like that?

The night’s chill was eating its way through her robes, and it was inhibiting her train of thoughts. She quickly made her way back into the building, hugging the Christmas present close against her chest. Perhaps a nice warm mug of tea in front of the fireplace would clear things up for her a bit better, than standing out here in the cold with only her jammies on.

Inside, Clara took her time in deciding whether or not to open the present. Not that she was expecting any dead alien parts inside; that would be a seriously cruel joke, even for someone grumpy and cynical like Twelve. She just could not make sense of a few things that led the box sitting right here, right now in front of her in her living room.

Clara waited until the warmth from the fireplace had regulated her body temperature, and the cup of tea had thawed her frozen fingers. Only then, she placed the box on her lap, and slowly pulled the ribbon apart.

Even more questions flooded her mind when she lifted the lid to unveil the contents – stacks of letters addressed to her. Were they all from Twelve? Why had he been writing letters to her, when she had been going about with him on the TARDIS? Why couldn’t he had just given the letters to her during the many times he had came about? Why wait until this particular Christmas night to give them all to her at one go, wrapped perfectly in a box as well?

And why write letters when he could just say what he needed to say to her in person?

However, the questions stopped when she noticed that the penmanship on the envelopes were different from the one on the tag. The “Clara Oswald” on the tag was thick and confident, while the ones on the envelopes were distinctively curvier and written more lightly on the paper material.

Twelve did not write these letters. Someone else did.

With that curiosity planted in her head, she picked up the first letter lying topmost on the stash, and tore it open. She unfolded the letter, and her breath was almost knocked out of her lungs when she saw the words that started the letter: My Clara.

_It can’t be,_ Clara thought, her heartbeat picking up speed inside her ribcage. _It’s impossible._

She scanned through the cursive writing on the paper, not bothering just yet what the context of the letter was, just to see first who had signed off the letter – and perhaps, the many letters that still lay in the box.

When her eyes reached the end of the letter, her heart exploded inside of her body. Her hands reached up to clasp her gaping mouth, and the letter fell and drifted back into the box.

_From Trenzalore, with love  
Your Doctor_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the centre of the room, the streetlights filtered through her closed drapes, and revealed a figure standing there.

“He’s back, Doctor, he’s back – he’s back!” Young Barnable shouted his way to the basement of the clock tower, when he caught sight of the TARDIS materialising quite a long way away from the centre of town.  
  
He had just burst through the front doors of the tower, yelling the same thing over and over again like his life depended on it, but Eleven was already well on his feet, practically sprang up from the bed he had fallen asleep on. The Doctor bumped into Barnable at the top of the stairway leading to the basement, and without wasting another second, had the young boy lead him to where the TARDIS had landed.  
  
“Boy, you sure took your own sweet time coming back here!” Eleven said to the TARDIS, but they both knew he was talking to the other Doctor inside of the police box. He gave the doors a hard shove, and they swept inwards as if a mighty wind had blown them open. Twelve had just normalised the landing, and was surprised to see visitors charging up on him already.  
  
“Where the _hell_ have you been?” Eleven marched up towards Twelve and demanded.  
  
“Nice to see you too, Doctor,” Twelve tried to remain calm, despite the other Doctor was already fuming red at the tips of his ears. “I’ve been busy, getting around, saving planets and all – you know how that’s like.”  
  
“It’s been three months – _three_!” Eleven shove three fingers in Twelve’s face. “I’ve fought off the Daleks _five_ times since the one you ran away from.”  
  
“Well done, boy!” Twelve exclaimed in a rather sarcastic tone, if only to avert the main subject for as long as possible. “Would you like a clap on the back for that – or maybe a golden star to add to your collection?”  
  
“Don’t – call – me – boy!” Eleven shot back. “Where are my letters, and where are they?”  
  
_So much for averting the subject,_ Twelve thought.  
  
“They are where they should be,” the older Doctor replied rather nonchalantly, as he continued to tinkle with the buttons on the console. He could not avert the subject, but at least he could avoid Eleven’s blazing glares in the meantime.  
  
Eleven balled his raised fist, and struggled a little with his words: “And – where would that be – might I ask?”  
  
“Where else should it be?” Twelve just shrugged.  
  
Eleven pursed his lips tight, and took quick intakes of breaths to calm himself down.  
  
“Why – did you – do that?” Eleven questioned through gritted teeth.  
  
Twelve threw his hands up at these obvious questions that he was getting from Eleven.  
  
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Twelve replied, sounding a tad annoyed himself. “If she weren’t meant to get them, why did you write them in the first place – mark down her address on the front as well, just in case people like me don’t get lost delivering them to her?”  
  
“Those were _my_ letters. They were _my_ property,” Eleven continued, ignoring Twelve. “You had no right –”  
  
“You know, if you think about it,” Twelve cut him off. “They were technically _my_ letters too. So, of course I had some rights to do the _obvious_ with them.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have stolen them from me, and sent them to her!” Eleven retorted, the volume of his voice getting louder with every word.  
  
“If you must know, Doctor,” Twelve’s voice was just as loud as Eleven’s now. “It was Christmas, and I thought it would be a nice present for Clara – letters from someone she loves, whom she thought she would never hear from again.”  
  
“She’s not supposed to read them,” Eleven continued. “Do you have any idea what you have done, sending her the letters? Do you have any idea what this would do to the time and space continuum? We might as well just light ourselves on fire now!”  
  
“Oh, really?” Twelve challenged. “Just like the idea you have every time you jump around time and space with that vortex manipulator of yours, and go spying on Clara?”  
  
“Vortex – What vortex manipulator?”  
  
“Oh, don’t act daft,” Twelve shot back. “You don’t think I know a vortex manipulator when I see one? You’ve got it lying around on your desk the last time I was here – you’re just waiting for me to find out.”  
  
“I don’t – I – I – You don’t –”  
  
“I-I – Yeah, you what? I don’t what?” Twelve taunted.  
  
“SH-SH-SHUT UP!” Eleven screamed, his whole body shaking from the fury that bathed down on him from head to toe.  
  
Every sound around them seemed to die down, and his voice bounced off the walls of the TARDIS.  
  
Eleven fixed a deathly glare at Twelve for a few more seconds, before he turned away swiftly, and sat down on the steps of the bridge. He rocked himself back and forth, back and forth. His hands ran up and down his legs vigorously, as he tried his best to calm himself down.  
  
_This is not happening, this is not happening…_ Eleven thought to himself rather deliriously.  
  
Twelve sighed, and ran a hand over his face. He might have riled Eleven up a little too much than he expected, and he did feel a bit sorry that he was having a bit of fun with the younger Doctor’s anxiety there. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, and made his way to sit down next to Eleven at the steps.  
  
Eleven just covered his face in dread, and tried to regulate his breathing, in case Twelve decided to continue with this charade. His two hearts were just about to go into cardiac arrest right there and then.  
  
“OK, I’m sorry I took your letters without your consent,” Twelve finally admitted. He winced a little when he heard Eleven gave a fake chortle into his palms. “It’s just –”  
  
Twelve heaved a great sigh before he continued.  
  
“It had been a pretty shitty Christmas for Clara. There were Dream Crabs, and she was this close to succumbing to her dreams because it’s better than what she has to wake up to. She was spending Christmas all on her own, away from her family…” he said, the tone of his voice had softened. “I-I just thought it would be a nice surprise for her, receiving all those letters you’ve written but had never sent out. You know, cheer her up a bit.”  
  
“It’s been a hard few months for Clara, you should know that,” he continued.  
  
“No, I don’t know that, Doctor,” Eleven said, finally unburying his face from his hands. “Yes, I did go looking for her using the vortex manipulator, but I stopped, alright? I stopped. I haven’t been to see her for a while now, way before you decided to – hijack my TARDIS.”  
  
“You stopped? Why?” Twelve asked. “And I did not hijack your TARDIS.”  
  
“Could you think of nothing else?” Eleven went on. “She found someone else. What would be the point of going round to see her, only to catch her – snogging some other guy every time?”  
  
Twelve paused for a bit, trying to figure out exactly whom Eleven was referring to.  
  
“What, you mean P.E? Danny Pink?” He asked.  
  
“Oh, you mean there were other blokes other than Dandy Danny?” Eleven rolled his eyes.  
  
“Doctor,” Twelve eased into the subject. “Danny Pink died – and he did not come back.”  
  
“But you said…” Eleven finally met Twelve’s eyes after avoiding them for so long.  
  
“I-I know what I said the last time,” Twelve said. “But – Ah, see – Clara was lying to me about it. I thought Danny had returned from the dead with this bracelet device from The Master, and –”  
  
“Wait, what? The Master is back?”  
  
“Yes, but that’s not the point,” Twelve rushed to rectify. “So, I thought – Clara and Danny are back together again, and she has been telling me that she wants to quit time travelling with me, so –”  
  
“What? Clara doesn’t want to travel anymore?”  
  
“Again – not quite relevant,” Twelve cut in once more. “So, I thought it was the best time to leave her, because then I could be off to look for Gallifrey –”  
  
“You found Gallifrey? Where?”  
  
“Oh, would you just – let me finish?” Twelve was at his wit’s end again, and that clamped Eleven shut for a while.  
  
“But they were all lies,” he continued. “Clara was lying, and – I was lying too. Danny didn’t come back from the dead – and I didn’t find Gallifrey. We’ve just been – all by ourselves, on our own.”  
  
Eleven furrowed his brows, and stared off into nothingness, his head trying to work out all these new information he had just heard from Twelve. The Master came back in the future, Clara was done with the Doctor and the TARDIS, Twelve found Gallifrey – or in this case, did not find, and Clara.  
  
Clara was not with Danny. Clara was all on her own.  
  
The two Doctors stayed quiet for a long moment, both digesting the news that had just gone out in the open, before Eleven finally heaved an exhale and said: “Well, why didn’t you say so that you’re looking for Gallifrey? They are but only a cracked wall away in my basement, threatening to break through into this universe, and potentially start the Time War all over again.”  
  
Twelve chuckled, and Eleven broke a tiny smile on his lips. Then, silence fell once more.  
  
“You should go back to her,” Twelve finally said. “I have a strong feeling she needs her Doctor right now – and I don’t mean me.”  
  
“I can’t just leave,” Eleven said, exasperated. “We’re in the middle of a war right now – I can’t just abandon these people to the disposal of every single enemy of mine – ours – in the universe.”  
  
“Besides,” he continued, looking down at his fingers picking at the broken string on the inside of his tweed jacket. “What makes you so sure that she even wants to see me? I mean – doesn’t matter if Danny is dead. Last I checked, she moved on – period. She doesn’t need her Doctor anymore.”  
  
“Not to mention, I sort of – dumped her back on Earth the last time I saw her, after she told me not to,” he added. “I don’t think she’d ever forgive me for that.”  
  
“Am I always so full of excuses?” Twelve asked, which caused Eleven to roll his eyes.  
  
“Look, I’m not saying abandon this town, and never return,” Twelve said, turning to face Eleven. “I’m saying, drop by, say hello, ask how she’s doing – that’s all.”  
  
“No, I can’t do that – it’s not that simple,” Eleven sighed and shook his head. “I mean, yes, I’ve been going into the future to see her with the vortex manipulator, but I was always invisible in her presence. She has never seen me there.”  
  
“OK, that’s just creepy and perverted,” Twelve muttered.  
  
“Shut up, I’m not the old man knocking about with a young school teacher.” Eleven said.  
  
“It’s not like you’re that much younger when you were travelling with her,” Twelve replied. “You may look 30, but you’re definitely _far_ from just 30.”  
  
“O-OK, fine,” Eleven cut in. It was nearly impossible to argue with himself, and so silly of him that he used to think how much he would enjoy his own company. “Still, we don’t know what it’s going to do to the whole system if she were to see me coming in from the past. There’s probably another crack growing in another little girl’s bedroom when you sent those letters to Clara.”  
  
“Great! Maybe it’s in Clara’s bedroom,” Twelve clapped his hands together. “Maybe you should go investigate.”  
  
“Can you just be serious for a moment here?” Eleven said.  
  
“Where do you think I got this from?” Twelve gestured to the whole of him. “Have you even looked at yourself in the mirror lately, Mr I’m-Much-More-Serious-Than-Twelve.”  
  
_Yeah, taking back what I wished for,_ Eleven thought. _Definitely not fun having myself as company – or at least this version of me for company._  
  
“Oh, I do miss Ten,” Eleven transpired his thoughts out loud, as he shot Twelve a look.  
  
“Alright, look, if the universes were to collapse in on themselves or whatever,” Twelve changed the subject. “Don’t you think they would have done so when you start going into the future with the vortex manipulator? Doesn’t matter if Clara had seen you or not, you have defied time and space with a very disturbing and unstable device. There was bound to be repercussions.”  
  
Eleven pursed his lips. It had occurred to him before, of course, and it was because such collosal damage had not happened that he was encouraged to go back to see Clara again and again. But he was still iffy about what would happen if Clara does see him in the flesh; something was bound to happen, he was sure of it.  
  
However, whether or not Eleven was hesitant in letting Clara see him, because of the fate of the universes, or because he was just a little afraid of what was going to happen – not around him billions of light years away, but right inside of him – was another pickle altogether.  
  
“Besides, haven’t we learned anything from our ol’ girl here?” Twelve waved his hand about, gesturing at the entirety of the TARDIS.  
  
Eleven looked at Twelve, puzzled.  
  
“She managed to fuse both our timelines into one, and even merge her past self and her future self together – and you know the troubles we would be in if it happens and we’re inside the TARDIS,” Twelve explained. “Yet, here we are, still talking about stolen letters and whether or not you should visit your former companion.”  
  
“Well, technically, she kind of still is – in this timeline,” Eleven muttered on. “I just sent her away and –”  
  
“Go – to – her,” Twelve interrupted with careful words.  
  
Eleven could only look back at him, eyes still filled with uncertainty, and even with a tiny tinge of fear.  
  
“Your ol’ girl has done her part, risking her life just to get you back to Clara,” Twelve said. “And if you care to remember, you once risked burning up the sun just to cross into an alternate universe to say goodbye to someone you care for a lot.”  
  
“What’s one skip into the future just to say hey?” Twelve concluded with a slight smile on his face.  
  
Eleven pressed his fingers into his tired eyes. Twelve may not be a good version of himself for company, but he was still company nonetheless. And right now, his company was making a lot of sense.  
  
“What are you now, my _dad_?” Eleven attempted a final tease.  
  
“If you must, Doctor,” Twelve sighed aloud, and Eleven cringed at that reply, as Twelve swung himself up from the steps. “If you must.”

 

*

 

By the time The Doctor finally got around to visiting Clara, it was already three months later. Winter had slowly thawed out, and spring was coming into being. Clara had finished reading all the letters in the box, (she had stayed up till the morning after Christmas, reading them all, once she had gotten a hold of herself), and had even reread a few of her so-called favourites a few more times.

By then, she had gotten used to the surreality of how the letters even came to be, despite still not quite understanding their presence in her life. She had even gotten used to them being a part of her life now, and had even got on with her daily routine: dressing up and heading to work at Coal Hill, facing her students and getting a few English lessons out of the way, and coming home to grade some workbooks, sitting next to the box where all the letters were.  
  
By the time The Doctor returned, Clara had pretty much gotten on with her life. But it did not mean she did not jump right out of her sleep, whenever she thought she heard the faintest sound of the TARDIS coming – including that night, when she had unexpectedly dozed off on the sofa grading papers. She was on her feet almost instantly, the marked papers scattered onto the floor around her. She came to hold her breath, trying not to move any part of her anatomy, just so she could hear the familiar wheezing of the TARDIS as it landed back on Clara’s timeline. The sound was so faint, Clara could have sworn it was all just a figment of her imagination, that she had been wanting The Doctor to return so badly, she had came to making things up in her head.  
  
But sadly, it was all just a mindtrick in her head. Clara came to realise a few minutes later. She let go of her breath, and shut her eyes. The TARDIS had not returned; it could just be the sound of an old black taxi tutting by. And with that, The Doctor had not returned as well – even after three months. Clara heaved a sad sigh, and slowly sunk back down onto the sofa, the papers surrounding her by her feet like a sad poetic gesture.  
  
Once again, Clara collected herself, refusing to fall into pieces in the face of yet another disappointment. She leaned over to collect the papers shrewn all over the floor, and her heart almost stopped, when she heard a quiet but distinguishable creak on the floorboards behind her, where her bedroom was.  
  
She let the papers fall back onto the floor. She straightened herself up, and turned around to face her bedroom, where the door was left ajar. At the centre of the room, the streetlights filtered through her closed drapes, and revealed a figure standing there. The room was not bright enough to see who it was, but Clara guessed just as much that The Doctor had finally returned.  
  
“Took you long enough, Doctor,” Clara went straight to the point, slowly making her way towards her bedroom, in case this was yet another figment of her imagination, and any swift movements might just scare The Doctor away.  
  
“Three months you’ve been away, if you must know,” she chose her words carefully, although they were hitting at the roof of her mouth, dying to spill out into the open. “It might as well be three years with the stunt you pulled the last time you came around like a church mouse.”  
  
Her mouth kept blabbering on about Twelve, and what he had done last Christmas. All the questions that had been swimming profusely in her head since then came blurting out of her system, throwing at The Doctor one after another, like balled up papers thrown at the wastebin again and again, but always missing the target.  
  
But the closer Clara came towards the dark figure, the more apparent she felt that something was not quite right. In fact, she was starting to realise that the dark figure in her bedroom might not be The Doctor she had been expecting. The pose did not seem right, if she came to think about it, and his height was a little off from what she had remembered of Twelve. Even the air he gave off didn’t seem right.  
  
_Not right,_ she thought, as her words slowly trailed off. _Yet, not strange._  
  
If it wasn’t The Doctor, who else could it be? A hologram of him – couldn’t be, as holograms don’t cast shadows and there was The Doctor’s shadow on the bedroom wall, pulled longer by the streetlights streaming in from the window. A Flesh Ganger of The Doctor – if so, Clara thought, it must be a faulty one to not get the height of The Doctor right. A mechanical Teselecta disguising as The Doctor – perhaps, as that would explain the strange air the dark figure gave off. A Whisper Man or A Silence – Clara’s heartbeat picked up speed at the thought of that possibility, and she prayed silently that it was neither of them; she wouldn’t know what to do! She quickly assured herself that it was at least the Teselecta, if only to calm herself from the worst.  
  
“D-Doctor?” Clara called out in a slight whisper. “Is that you?”  
  
The dark figure did not move, nor replied. Clara was almost certain he was not breathing as well. The suspense was beginning to become too much for her to bear, especially after all the waiting around for three months.  
  
“Oh, for God’s sake, Doctor,” Clara tsked, and fumbled for the light switch on the wall just next to the doorframe where she had been standing. “Enough with the games!”  
  
The light flooded in the bedroom, and it practically blinded Clara. It was The Doctor, alright, standing in front of her – not a Flesh Ganger, or a Whisper Man, or a Silence, could still be a Teselecta, but even so, that would be a bit cruel on their part.  
  
Because standing there, just two steps away from Clara was The Doctor. Not Twelve, _her_ Doctor. He was squinting just a bit from the suddenly lit room, looking slightly terrified of what was going to happen next, now that Clara had seen him – but he was, without a doubt, _her_ Doctor.  
  
Clara’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach, and she felt herself suffocating.  
  
“I-Is this some kind of a joke?” Clara blurted out, warm tears welling up in her eyes. “Is this a joke, Doctor, because this is just – just – really, _really_ cruel – even by your standards!”

 

*

 

Clara’s reaction towards the revealing of The Doctor was like a blade through both of his hearts. As soon as the lights came on in the bedroom, and he could see Clara as clearly as she would him, he regretted the decision immediately. He did not know why he was even swayed by Twelve to come back here and see Clara.

He could not feel his tongue in his clamped mouth. All he could do was stay still where he was standing, and looked on at Clara as she slowly fell into pieces. His face crumpled at the sight of her, and as tears formed, his eyes slowly blurred his vision of Clara – _his_ dear Clara.  
  
“I don’t see you for three – months, and you come back, looking like – _this_?” Clara continued with her beratement – and bereavement. “First, you dropped off a bunch of letters, supposedly written by the other Doctor, and now, you’ve gotten your pals from Teselecta to play this – April’s fool joke on me, is that it? Hide inside their huge empty shell, and laughing your heads off inside there?”  
  
“COME OUT HERE, RIGHT NOW, BECAUSE THIS IS NOT IN THE LEAST BIT FUNNY!” Clara grabbed onto The Doctor’s arms and started shaking him hard, screaming with all her might at his face.  
  
All the pent up emotions she had been feeling for months pouring out through her shrilled cries, and angry tears running down her cheeks. Her little beautiful hands balled up into fists and hitting The Doctor’s chest until they punch holes through him, maybe dissolving the Teselecta framework into tiny byte size pieces.  
  
The Doctor could only remain where he was, and allowed Clara to let go of everything that had hurt her and made her resentful of the mere sight of him. He didn’t know the 5’ 2” form was ever capable of such mean punches, and it was beginning to hurt him – but the pain was nothing compared to the one beating inside of him. Much less, it was nothing compared to the pain Clara went through, was going through.  
  
Gradually, the anger simmered off, and Clara was choked with uncontrollable cries. Her legs seemed to have grown weary all of a sudden, and she was starting to sink down onto the ground, melt into her rug like a pile of goo.  
  
The Doctor could feel the energy leaving Clara’s body slowly, and his hands came to support Clara’s flailing arms, his grip tightening for support more and more, as the bashes grew weaker and weaker. They both slid onto the floor, with Clara’s shaking body wrapped tightly in his embrace, as he tried his hardest not to burst into tears as well.  
  
“Who – are – you?” Her voice quivered, as she spoke into The Doctor’s tweed jacket. “Why – Why are you here? Why are you – Why are you doing this…”  
  
The Doctor cupped the back of Clara’s head and pulled her closer into his arms. The tears started falling, and he could feel the blade in his hearts twisting and turning, burying itself deeper and deeper.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Clara,” He mumbled against her hair. “My Clara – I’m so, so, so – sorry…”  
  
Only her Doctor would call her that.  
  
Clara gently pushed her face away from The Doctor’s chest, and bucked up all the strength she had left to look him straight in the face. Her breath shivered, and her eyes searched, as if still trying to look for any sign of the Teselecta community hidden behind his irises – that tiny figure of Twelve hiding in his eyes, looking back at her. But all she could make out was The Doctor’s greenish blue eyes wet with tears – the eyes she had not been staring into for what seemed like forever.  
  
“Doctor?” She whispered, her face wet with tears, and her hair dishevelled. “ _My_ – Doctor?”  
  
The Doctor smiled, and cupped Clara’s small face in both his hands – hands that she was all too familiar with. The hands that she gave in and leaned into, as the reality broke through.  
  
“Yes – Yes, Clara,” The Doctor whispered back. “It’s me. Your Doctor…”  
  
He leaned forward and captured Clara’s lips, and the world just crumbled all around them, like the papers that scattered about in the living room.  
  
“It’s me – It’s me – It’s me…” The Doctor said in between kisses against her lips.  
  
_It’s him…_ Clara’s head cleared.  
  
“It’s you…” Clara wrapped her weakened arms around The Doctor’s neck, pulling herself closer to him, and deepening the kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “New feelings – so many new feelings!” She thought she heard The Doctor breathed heavily, as she felt his hands moving down to the small of her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Contains matured and potentially graphic sexual scenes. Proceed with caution.

New feelings, so many new feelings, coursing through The Doctor’s entire being as he pulled Clara onto his lap, and wrapped his arms tighter around her, pulling her closer to him, as if trying to merge her body and his into one.

New feelings surged through every sinew and muscle, in his mind and in his physique as Clara kissed him back – and unlike the first time they kissed, when they first met in Victorian London, and she was another version of herself, he did not pull away. He embraced it, and took in everything that Clara was pouring into him through her lips, her beautiful lips.

New feelings, they frightened The Doctor. But at the same time, he could not bear to let them go, could not bear to let them stop.

Clara was straddling his hips, and the kisses so hot, they would have knocked The Doctor over, if it weren’t for the bed frame behind them, holding him up in a sitting position, as Clara pushed him, trapped him, against it.

His kisses ran down her neck, her beautiful neck, and his hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they rummaged about the length of her back, feeling her, feeling so much of her all at once.

Clara’s hands delved into The Doctor’s hair, his tussled hair, and gripped onto the roots whenever he found a sweet spot near her collarbone or the one just under her earlobe. Her legs wrapped tighter around The Doctor’s waist, until she could feel their lower body aligned onto each other, the sheer movement of their kissing causing exploding friction that made her moan with excitement, made The Doctor do the same into her mouth.

When The Doctor’s hands found their way under Clara’s sleeping wear, Clara’s hands moved down the length of his chest, and started unbuttoning his shirt, pulling away the braces that were seemingly holding every piece of clothing on him together. The Doctor shrugged his shirt and braces off his shoulders, and holding onto Clara’s form with the hands on her back, shifted them into a new position on the rug, with his body pressing heavily down on Clara’s smaller one, the friction causing his pants to get even tighter as their bodies moved in a similar rhythm.

As if sensing the suffocation happening on the lower part of his body, Clara’s fingers danced their way down to the waistband of The Doctor’s pants, and skilfully, started undoing the zipper and giving The Doctor a little more breathing space. She could feel The Doctor’s shaft pulsating widely in her hand, and his breathing shortening into hiccups next to her ear.

“New feelings – so many new feelings!” She thought she heard The Doctor breathed heavily, as she felt his hands moving down to the small of her back, down to her perky buttcheeks, then up again along her thighs encircled around The Doctor’s torso, and further up her legs, hitching up her sleeping gown and exposing her limbs to his warm and rough hands.

Clara tugged The Doctor’s pants down his bent legs, and for a brief moment, forgetting all laws of physics known to mankind, he straightened his legs, only to have gravity pull him back down onto the ground, almost squashing Clara flat underneath him.

Their lips broke free from each other, allowing them time to catch their breaths. Their eyes remained fixated on the other, and Clara proceeded to pull his garments off of him, until she could sense a hot passionate heat burning and pressing against her crotch.

“Impossible Girl,” The Doctor managed to say in between heavy breaths with a lopsided smile. “A mystery wrapped in an enigma – squeezed into a skirt – which is a little bit too tight.”

“Shut up, Doctor,” Clara said, and grabbed the nape of his neck to push his head down for another attack on the lips. Down there, she wriggled under The Doctor’s gyrating form, freeing herself now from her undergarments.

Then, feeling both their hardness rubbing against each other, they stopped, staring deeper into each other’s eyes. Clara was not sure if The Doctor knew what was going to happen next, but she did, and she thought she had waited long enough. Carefully, she lifted her hips until he was resting right at her inner thighs.

“Well,” The Doctor gasped and then gulped. “Here goes. Geroni-”

“No!” Clara hushed him just in time, placing a finger on his lips and trying hard not to laugh, lest they kill the moment. “Just – do it, Doctor.”

The Doctor smiled back with bated breath, and leaned forward, leaned into Clara.

Clara flung her head back in ecstasy. Her fingers burning nail marks into The Doctor’s forearms. She could hear The Doctor’s maddened groan as she wrapped herself around him. Her eyes fluttered shut, and billions and billions of stars of the universe she had seen with The Doctor exploded behind her eyelids.

 

*

 

_It’s impossible,_ Clara thought, as she looked down at The Doctor who was still soundly asleep the next morning. _It’s just – impossible._

When she woke up about an hour ago, she had managed to slide herself out from within The Doctor’s hold, and had been sitting on her bed next to him, watching him sleep.

Clara had never seen The Doctor sleeping, now that she thought about it. Back in the days, when they used to travel together, he was always bouncing about the console with such bright and energetic form, excited to bring Clara to the next place in space and time, not even bothering to ask if she would like to go there, mainly because he already knew the answer to that question.

Times when he was away from her, she did wonder if The Doctor would park the TARDIS somewhere unlocatable in deep space, and catch up on his sleep for a couple of hours at least. Even when the TARDIS was malfunctioning, and she was trapped in its maze-like catacombs, Clara remembered that of all the different rooms she had been into inside the TARDIS, none of them were The Doctor’s bedroom. He probably never had one to begin with.

Now, here he was.

Against all odds, here he was, sleeping like he had never slept for close to 2,000 years in her bed, in her arms.

He looked so peaceful, lying there by Clara’s side. All the wrinkles that had grown on his forehead and creased his face as time passed, they seemed to have all smoothened away overnight, and as Clara ran her fingers feather lightly across his forehead, brushing aside his strand of hair that always falls down and covers up half of his face.

There were still so many questions Clara wanted to ask The Doctor: How did he come back from his death – or more aptly, his regeneration? How was he here right now with her? How did he know exactly when to find her? How it came to be that they were now lying in the same bed, under the same sheet – naked?

Clara blushed at the flashes of thoughts of them the night before. She bit back her smile, and got out of bed to put on her robes. The Doctor’s touch was still so vivid and warm against her skin, it made her feel tingly all over now, making her blush in a deeper shade of red.

She made her way out of the bedroom as quietly as she could muster, (which was not much an effort, as The Doctor was in a deep dead log sleep). She got into the living area, and picked up her students’ papers that were still strewn all over the floor. She piled them up neatly on the coffee table, where the box of letters The Doctor had written sat the night before, and for many nights before that. She unlided the box and pulled out the last letter she had read on the top of the pile. Her eyes scanned his cursive handwriting on the page, and the tiniest smile tug at the corner of her lips.

“Clara?” She looked up from the letter in her hand, when she heard The Doctor calling out to her from the bedroom. She walked back towards the room, and leaned against the doorframe.

“Hello, Doctor,” Clara greeted, smiling at The Doctor who was still rubbing sleep off his eyes.

The Doctor caught sight of Clara standing at the door, and he, too, smiled, before it disappeared and his eyes grew wide. Perplexed, Clara watched as The Doctor bundled up the blanket around him to cover up his topless body, which he had left exposed without his realisation.

“Really, Doctor?” She laughed. “We spent the night together, and you’re worried about being naked in front of me – now?”

“If I recall, you weren’t shy at all when you showed up in your most barest form for Christmas last year,” Clara added with a raised eyebrow.

The Doctor dipped his head and smiled a blushing smile. Then, he looked up at Clara again, sending her heart in a flurry, and chuckled: “Hello, Clara.”

Clara could feel her face burning, as she shuffled back to the bed, and sat down beside The Doctor. She stared tearfully at The Doctor for a while, before grasping for his hand, and laying a kiss on his palm.

“It’s impossible,” she whispered against his skin.

The Doctor turned his palm, cupped her pinkish face, and guided her eyes to look at him. He gave her that soft smile he had often done, and pulled her back into his arms. Clara fitted in his embrace like it was made only for her, and she buried her face against his chest.

“It’s just – impossible,” she repeated, tightening her arms around him, suddenly afraid that any moment now, The Doctor might just disintergrate into thin air, like he once did when he regenerated.

“I know,” The Doctor murmured into her hair, and planted a kiss on her forehead. Oh, how Clara had missed his kisses on her forehead.

Clara tilted her head upwards, and caught his lips with hers almost naturally. Their arms drew the other’s body closer. Clara felt The Doctor deepening the kiss, and unwittingly, made her whimper like a lost kitten in his mouth.

“Something happened, and things just –” The Doctor began to explain the situation when their lips broke contact, but Clara pulled him back in, her tongue snaked into his mouth and started massaging his.

“Not now, Doctor,” Clara whispered between breaths. “I know it’s impossible, but – not right now.”

The Doctor submitted himself, and rolled Clara over on the bed until she was well pinned under his body, their lips always connecting, always keeping the cruel world outside the window at bay.

 

*

 

The Doctor could not stop staring at Clara as she pottered about in the kitchen making them breakfast, and he could feel the skin on his face taut out with a ridiculous smile that he could not seem to get rid of. Moving back and forth from the sink to the stove, Clara would steal glances at The Doctor over her shoulder, and she would be caught every time with a smile on her face, a ridiculous one that The Doctor guessed she could not get rid of either.

New feelings, so many new feelings – but The Doctor was glad he felt all of them.

I mean, sure, The Doctor had done things like the ones he did last night, during those secret nights he would sneak off to the Stormcage to see River, his former wife. But gosh, they were nothing like what The Doctor had known. Not to say that the nights he spent with River were bad, mind you. Last night was – different. It was Clara.

His Clara. His Impossible Girl. All the pent up emotions between both of them must have been accounted for something when they finally got together last night. It was the moment back in Victorian London when he gave in and gave Clara the key to the TARDIS. It was the moments they spent together while time travelling. It was the moments when he held her hand and kissed her forehead. It was the moments when he stole secret glances at her and wondered how he had gotten so lucky with this particular companion. It was the moments when he felt something more than platonic towards Clara but dared not speak anything about it out loud. It was all those moments with Clara Oswald, rolled into one.

The Doctor thought that he might explode just thinking about it now. But he didn’t. Here he was still, the morning after, sitting at the kitchen counter, watching Clara making breakfast as he sipped on his cup of coffee – which he promptly spat back out into the mug when the bitterness hit the tongue.

“How, Doctor?” Clara’s question snapped The Doctor out of the trance he was not even sure when he had gotten into.

It must had been awhile, because the coffee he refused was growing cold in the mug in his hands, and Clara was sitting in front of him, the stove turned off and the breakfast already laid out under his nose.

“How are you even here?” Clara asked again, leaning closer to The Doctor from across the kitchen counter. Her eyes searching his face, still not quite believing that he was there.

“Because it’s impossible,” The Doctor smiled widely, and dotted her nose. “And you – are my Impossible Girl.”

“Still on that, are we?” Clara rolled her eyes, and looked down at the scrambled eggs she had gathered with her fork.

“Truthfully, I never really stopped – not yet,” The Doctor replied, picking up his fork too and got a little confused as to which part of the breakfast he should start first. “And I know you like it.”

Clara pursed a growing smile on her face, and quickly took a sip from her cup of tea to hide it.

The Doctor fumbled with the fork for a moment longer, before he put it down, and looked back up at Clara.

“To be honest, I’m not quite sure myself, Clara,” The Doctor finally admitted. “One day, I was fixing toys at the basement of the clock tower in the town called Christmas – you remember Christmas, right? And the next thing I know, I’m – here – with you.”

“But how – how did you even get here?” Clara asked.

“Vortex manipulator,” he replied. “Which, by the way, might be somewhere in your bedroom right now – not quite sure which way I was looking at when I took them off.”

“And you – vortex manipulated the letters to me?” She asked with a lopsided smile.

“No, no, that wasn’t me,” The Doctor chuckled. “That was all – Twelve.”

“Can’t believe you call him ‘Twelve’ too,” Clara smiled and took another sip from her tea.

“I only call him ‘Twelve’ because you do,” The Doctor said.

Clara furrowed her eyebrows, and it was his turn to take a sip from the coffee – which again, he spat right back out into the mug.

“It – It wasn’t my first time here last night, Clara,” The Doctor hesitated, dabbing the corner of his mouth off the coffee residue. “I’ve been – I mean, I was – I came to see you more than once before – last night.”

“But – where were you? Why didn’t I see you?”

“Because I had the invisibility filter on, and no, no – not yet. I couldn’t let you see me just yet, not even when I’m standing right in front of you.”

“So, it was really you then – when I saw you across the street from the restaurant where I –” Clara stopped mid-sentence when she realised where it was heading. She was not sure if she should even tell The Doctor about Danny Pink.

But The Doctor knew already, of course. The Doctor always knew: “Where you had your date with Danny Pink – yes. Yes, that was me.”

“And that time when you – went to his place and kissed him,” he added quickly, and avoided eye contact with her straight after.

“That’s creepy.”

“I know.”

“Quite perverted, even.”

“Yeah, Twelve thought so too.”

“So, you’ve met Twelve?” Clara asked, partly to change the subject and avoid further awkwardness of the situation – at least for The Doctor.

“Well, how do you think the letters came to you – Owls?” The Doctor shrugged.

“I-I’ve been – hanging around whenever you write your letters,” he continued when Clara did not say anything. “Every letter you wrote, I was there, reading it over your shoulder. And in my own time, I wrote to you too, sometimes in response to your letters. I just – wasn’t expecting to send them out.”

“Me neither,” Clara said. Their eyes met, and they broke into smiles.

“I was running towards the TARDIS when she materialised back into the town of Christmas one day,” The Doctor started again, as he picked up his fork once more, and started pushing the baked beans about the plate. Those bad, bad beans, he remembered. “And who should I find, but Twelve, already inside, mucking about the controls as if it were his own TARDIS?”

“But – how did he even get in there?”

“Because it was his TARDIS too – that’s stil debateable though,” The Doctor frowned at the statement.

“You couldn’t have been – sharing the same TARDIS,” Clara stated.

“No, we couldn’t, but yet we still are!” The Doctor said.

“You remember when we met the two other Doctors, yea, and they both had their own TARDISes to fly off with? Well, you see, it’s because our TARDISes did not share the same console model, whereas Twelve’s and mine do. So, the TARDIS must have figured something out from her matrix while we were running about in our own timelines, because she managed to merge our TARDISes into one. She managed to combine herself from two different time streams, and became one in one specific time and space. The ol’ girl has evolved!”

“But that still doesn’t explain how the TARDIS knew which specific time and space to merge with,” Clara said.

“Of course she does,” The Doctor smiled at Clara. “She knows, because of you.”

“Me?”

“When you formed that telepathic link with the TARDIS, you opened up your mind to her – all of it,” he proceeded to explain. “Your childhood, your present with Danny Pink, and even – your past with me.”

“Those memories were strong, apparently,” he added. “That’s why the TARDIS could get a clear hold of me in my time stream, and join her matrix system with the box there.”

The Doctor then reached out and held onto Clara’s hand tight: “You led her to me.”

“And then…” Clara was still struggling to make sense of everything.

“And then,” The Doctor huffed. “Twelve convinced me to come see you, because clearly the TARDIS wanted me to come back to see you by crashing Twelve into my time stream like that – who knows which parts in the fabric of the universe she’s burning up right now. And you know Twelve. He won’t stop until he gets things his way.”

“Well, to be fair, Doctor, neither did you,” Clara laughed.

Clara shook her head in disbelief, and gave their intertwined hands a squeeze.

“Us and our impossibilities,” Clara muttered, and watched as The Doctor clamped his other hand over their twined ones.

“The Impossible Girl and the Clever Boy,” The Doctor smiled.

“Brought together by a – benevolent blue box, and a – grumpy old man!” She said, and they both burst out laughing.

“Oi, who you calling grumpy!”

They both jumped, and The Doctor knocked over his cup of coffee that he had spat out twice.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But – I need you,” she whispered.

Twelve does have a better and more versatile appetite, as compared to Eleven, who were then turning the kitchen upside down and inside out, just to find a bag of frozen fish fingers and a carton of custard. Twelve was already chomping away at the breakfast Clara made for Eleven that had gone cold, and frankly, after the “adventure” he had last night with Clara, Eleven had grown rather peckish.  
  
Twelve did not mind at all, intruding on Clara and Eleven, and tucking himself in with a full breakfast meal that Eleven just couldn’t seem to stomach.  
  
“Oh, I don’t know why you’d turn down such a delicious meal, Doctor,” Twelve said, as he swiped a finger across the plate covered with baked beans sauce, and suckled on it in his mouth. “Your custard fish fingers diet has definitely opened up a whole new world of gastronomy for me in this regeneration.”  
  
Eleven made a face at Twelve, even though his back was towards him, as he continued to slam cabinets and pull drawers.  
  
“What – are you looking for, Doctor?” Clara asked. She had been keeping an eye out on Eleven since he jumped up from his seat, and scurried about the small ensuite kitchen.  
  
“My breakfast,” Eleven replied, trying to reach the handles of the topmost cabinet on the shelf, just to see if Clara had somehow hidden cartons and cartons of custard in there. Although it didn’t occurred to The Doctor then that Clara was a head shorter than him, and if he could not reach it, Clara certainly could not even manage to go through the trouble of hiding cartons and cartons of custard in there.  
  
“Um, I made you breakfast, Doctor,” Clara said.  
  
“And it was deeee-licious!” Twelve jumped in.  
  
“But you didn’t want it,” she continued.  
  
She felt a tad hurt that one of the handful of times she had actually got down and made a proper breakfast for someone, Eleven had totally dismissed it, and gone snooping about the kitchen for something else instead, which Clara was not quite sure what he would conjure up, as Clara had yet to do the groceries for the week.  
  
“No, no, I’m – allergic to it,” Eleven simply concluded. “Baked beans – bad, bad beans. Coffee tastes – blargh! Buttered toast should’ve stayed out when I threw them out – but no! No, no, no – what I need is... What I need is… Oh, where did Amelia Pond used to keep those fish fingers?”  
  
“Fish fingers?” Clara raised her eyebrows. “You can’t have fish fingers for breakfast. That’s not proper breakfast.”  
  
“Yeah, and look how I turned out,” Twelve cut in again, raising up his arms to prove his point.  
  
“How about I make you some waffles, yea?” Clara walked over to Eleven, and stopped his hands from reaching yet another drawer – which he had forgotten he had went through three times already.  
  
“What are your waffles made of?” Eleven asked, already looking rather excited about it. “Are they processed food? Can I dip them in custard?”  
  
“Erm, no…” Clara hesitated, and a frown tilted The Doctor’s wide smile upside down.  
  
“If I recall, you have quite a large storage of fish fingers and custard in your basement,” Twelve said, after taking his final sip of Eleven’s coffee.  
  
“Oh, yes – great idea! Oh, I am clever, aren’t I?” Eleven lit up once again, and smiled at Twelve. “We can pop by the basement with the TARDIS, and get some supplies over here so I can have breakfast!”  
  
The words came out of Eleven’s lips even before he could stop himself. Upon seeing the look Twelve was giving him, Eleven suddenly took notice of the things he had just said, and realised that it would not be possible to just “pop by” the town of Christmas.  
  
This visit to see Clara was supposed to be the “pop by”, not the other way round.  
  
“Right, yes – of course,” Eleven quieted down, and started fiddling with his fingers like he would when he was not quite certain how to proceed with the next step. “Of course – that would be rather silly.”  
  
An awkward silence was beginning to grow in the kitchen amongst the trio, and before it got impregnated even further, Twelve rubbed his hands together and got up from his chair, ready to head back to the TARDIS that was parked just under the window of Clara’s bedroom.  
  
“Right, better be off now,” Twelve announced. “Lovely, lovely breakfast, Clara! I shall try to fix up a kitchen in the TARDIS so that you can make more breakfasts for when we’re on the move.”  
  
“Thanks, Doctor,” Clara went to give Twelve a hug. “I think?”  
  
“Alright, off we pop – come on, Doctor!” Twelve said, already making his way towards the door, if only to get out of the hug Clara had pulled him into  
  
“Wait – you’re going too?” It came as a surprise to Clara, and she spun around to look at Eleven for affirmation, a part of her hoping that Twelve was on another one of his jokes she could not quite understand, and Eleven would just wave him off.  
  
But Eleven’s face was grim, and he had a nervous air about him. Clara realised then that Twelve was not joking; Eleven had to go.  
  
Eleven’s eyes met Clara’s indecisively, and sighed: “I’m sorry, Clara, but he’s right. I have to go back.”  
  
Clara stood frozen where she was in the middle of the kitchen, as Eleven walked past her back to her bedroom, to put on his clothes that he had left scattered all about. By the time Clara found her bearings and was herself rushing towards her bedroom, Eleven was already dressed, the braces hanging off the sides of his pants.  
  
“But – What about last night?” she stammered, her heart beating heavily. “You’re just – going to walk away – even after last night?”  
  
Eleven could not turn around to face Clara. His head bowed in shame and even sorrow.  
  
“Last night? What happened last night?” Twelve piped in.  
  
Clara and Eleven looked rather surprised to his direction simultaneously. They had totally forgotten that he was still around, hanging by the foyer leading to the front door.  
  
The tension began to grow in the apartment, and it wasn’t long before Twelve finally caught on to what supposedly happened last night, and why Clara would expect Eleven to not leave “even after last night”. Twelve must have blushed a little, when it hit him, and the next few things that came out of his mouth was a flurry of words jumbled together without any meaning.  
  
“Right, so, that’d be my cue to leave,” Twelve cleared his throat and started again. “I’ll – uh – wait for you in the TARDIS.”  
  
He cracked open the front door and let himself out, before poking his head right back in again.  
  
“But not too long though,” Twelve added. “Because you know – I’m old and apparently – _grumpy_!”  
  
It was Twelve’s last attempt to instil some humour in the room during this hard time of an unexpected farewell. But it didn’t work. Clara and Eleven stood facing each other, each not knowing what to say to the other.

 

*

 

Clara allowed herself to be led by the hand to the living room, where she sat on the sofa, sorrow slowly filling up her entire being, as The Doctor took his turn to potter about in the kitchen, preparing two cups of hot tea for himself and Clara.

The Doctor returned shortly after, and placed the mugs of tea on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He sat down on the empty space beside Clara and wrung his hands a little.  
  
“I can’t seem to find any Jammie Dodgers in your kitchen,” he spoke up, trying to diffuse the tension that was growing in the room. “You should keep some for yourself. Tea would go lovely with some Jammie Dodgers.”  
  
_What would be the point of storing Jammie Dodgers in my apartment, or even stupid fish fingers and custard? You won’t be around anyway._ Clara wanted to say to The Doctor, but decided to clamp her mouth shut instead.  
  
It must have been a long while, before The Doctor finally turned himself to face Clara, and took hold of her hands hesitantly. Clara could only manage to stare at their joint hands. She couldn’t bring herself to look at The Doctor. She was already tearing up as it was.  
  
“I have to go back, Clara,” The Doctor’s words were careful and quiet. “An entire planet is in danger right now from being annihilated, and I’m the only one who can help them.”  
  
“So, last night was just a bootie call, then?” Clara finally got her words out in sheer frustration. “Your chance to – ease up all these pent up sexual bothers after close to a thousand years, and because your wife wasn’t around to help you with that?”  
  
“No, of course not,” The Doctor replied almost immediately, then thought for a bit: “What is a – bootie call?”  
  
“What supposedly happened last night, that’s what,” Clara huffed, and took her hands away from The Doctor’s grasp, but he caught them again before they could slither under her lap.  
  
“Look, whatever you think last night was, it wasn’t – look at me, Clara,” The Doctor assured her, and reluctantly, she looked up and met The Doctor’s eyes.  
  
“It wasn’t,” he repeated, staring straight at her with eyes that did not lie. “Trust me.”  
  
Clara did, she really did. But that didn’t mean that she could take his departure that was happening so soon easy. She had barely gotten The Doctor back, and now he had to leave her again, never sure when he would come back, or if he ever would.  
  
“The town of Christmas needs me,” he said, his grip tightening on Clara’s hand.  
  
Clara shut her eyes, and a tear rolled down her left cheek silently.  
  
“But – _I_ need you,” she whispered.  
  
It wasn’t like Clara at all to react so selfishly. Once upon a time, if The Doctor had told her he had to be away because he was saving the lives of an entire planet, Clara would have been the one pushing The Doctor through the doors of the TARDIS, urging him to hurry up and leave already. But it was not so, this morning after. For once, Clara wanted to be selfish with The Doctor. The entire universe had the courtesy of the time he would spend so eagerly on them, but just this once, Clara would like to be honoured with the same courtesy.  
  
Shouldn’t she deserve at least that, after all that she had been through with The Doctor? All the danger she had so cluelessly plunged herself into for him, couldn’t he at least, just this time, do likewise for her?  
  
But Clara knew deep down, that was impossible. He was, after all, The Doctor, and the town of Christmas needed him.  
  
Clara felt The Doctor slipping away again. She was losing him all over again.  
  
She fell into The Doctor’s arms, and wrapped her arms around his body tightly, not wanting to let go. The Doctor pulled her close to him, and kissed the top of her head.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Clara,” he whispered into her hair. “So, so sorry. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I-I’ll come with you,” Clara said as she freed herself from the embrace just to look deep into The Doctor’s greenish blue eyes. “You’re all alone there in Christmas, and what’s The Doctor without his companion?”  
  
“No, Clara, it’s too dangerous,” The Doctor remained firm on his feet. “I can’t risk losing you too by having you along for this. Why do you think I sent you away those two times when you tried to come back – which, by the way, I’m sorry about them too.”  
  
“Besides,” The Doctor continued, holding Clara’s face in both his hands. “Who’s going to look after that old geezer Doctor if you’re with me? He’s older, and could get himself into far more problems in days to come. We can’t just let him wander off into deep space like that. He needs you more than me right now.”  
  
Clara could not bear hearing this. The Doctor was more than right, but she could not bear hearing this. She leaned into The Doctor’s touch with closed eyes as the tears continued to flow down her cheeks.  
  
The Doctor aligned his forehead with hers with eyes closed, and captured Clara’s lips with his for the lightest and most delicate kiss.  
  
“I love you, Clara Oswald,” The Doctor whispered against her lips. “I love you so much. My Clara. My Impossible Girl.”  
  
“I love you too,” Clara’s voice whimpered as she managed between tears.  
  
“I will come back to you, Clara,” The Doctor said, his voice in a firmer tone, as he pulled Clara in tight in his arms. “I don’t know how, and I don’t know when – but I will come back to you, I swear.”  
  
He held onto her face again so that they were eye-to-eye. Tears were beginning to form in The Doctor’s eyes as he watched the heartbreaking scene happening right in front of him.  
  
“I have to go now, Clara, but I will come back to you,” He said.  
  
It took Clara a while, but she finally mustered a few nods.  
  
“Promise me you’ll keep writing me those letters,” The Doctor said, and kissed her again. “Promise me you’ll keep on writing to me until the day I come back to you.”  
  
“Only if you promise to come back to me when it’s all over,” Clara said, managing a weak smile.  
  
“I promise,” The Doctor smiled in return, and planted a deep and passionate kiss on her lips, one that would halt time itself.

 

*

 

By the time Eleven got to the TARDIS, he could hear some crazy melodic noises banging away from inside. He pushed the door open immediately, worried that the TARDIS might be in some sort of a fit, only to find Twelve sitting upon what seemed to be an amplifier, with an electric guitar in his arms, with a pair of Wayfarers on.

Eleven threw him a scrutinised look, as Twelve lengthened the last note on his guitar, and attempted to hop off the amplifier, even though he was just sitting there.  
  
“So, this is your ‘thing’ now, is it?” Eleven asked, when the echoes of the jarring note faded off the walls of the TARDIS, and he could hear the comforting buzz of the console again.  
  
“I got bored,” Twelve said, taking off his shades. “Took you long enough, eh?”  
  
“Yeah, well, here I am,” Eleven shrugged, walking towards the controls, and busied himself with the coordinates for the next destination – Trenzalore. “Let’s go then.”  
  
Twelve stood on the other side of the console, and watched Eleven avoiding his gaze.  
  
“You OK?” He asked.  
  
“Mmm-hmm!” Eleven replied, still not looking at Twelve. “Drop by, say hi and go, you said. I dropped by, said hi and now – we go. Chop chop now, old man, if you don’t mind.”  
  
At that moment, if there was one person who could understand how much Eleven does not want to talk about anything at all, it would have to be himself, or in this paradoxical case, Twelve. So, the older Doctor just nodded and was about to pull the lever to get the TARDIS moving again through time and space.  
  
“Can you promise me something though, Doctor?” Eleven spoke up before Twelve could set them in motion. “Before we – go.”  
  
“Anything,” Twelve shrugged.  
  
This time, Eleven looked up and met Twelve’s gaze from across the control system.  
  
“Promise me you’ll look after Clara?” Eleven asked. “You and I both know the kind of troubles we would get ourselves into – in the name of The Doctor. So, just – whatever adventures you get yourself into in days to come – promise me you’ll take care of Clara?”  
  
“It’s always been my number one priority,” Twelve said with a smile.  
  
Eleven managed a tight smile in return. “Thank you.”  
  
When the TARDIS safely landed her two Doctors back in Trenzalore, Eleven said his goodbyes to Twelve, and stepped out of the blue box, closing the door behind him.  
  
He could already hear Twelve scrambling about, looking for the next great place to head to, and the TARDIS was more than ready on standby to whisk the current Doctor away to anywhere she thought he needed to be.  
  
Eleven placed his palm on the blue frame as she started to fade away, the wheezing noise growing softer and softer. He did miss the good ol’ days when he got to travel with the TARDIS. Now, his days were over, and he had a new mission to stay put finally somewhere in the vast universe.  
  
“Thank you, ol’ girl,” he whispered, as the TARDIS disappeared completely, leaving The Doctor behind.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl who saved The Doctor, finally became the girl who waited.

_September 26, 2015_

_My Doctor,_

_By the time Twelve came back to pick me up again, it was already September. Some nine months since the last time he dropped by – since the last time you were here. What had he been up to, while he was away? Worried about his own death, apparently, as all semi-delusional old man does._

_It was a fairly good day, if I were to be honest with you, and there had been good days – better days – since you both left, if not, just normal days with no alien attacks. That was, until all the planes passing by London, and all over the world as it turned out, just stopped in midair. That was when I knew Twelve was coming back – or in this case, more specifically, Twelve was needed, and seeing that he was nowhere to be found for the last nine months, we had to go looking for him._

_Now, when I said “we”, I meant me and well, The Master. Not sure if Twelve had mentioned to you about his return, (or more appropriate and accurate now, her), but yeah, she’s back. She’s called Missy now, and boy was she a nightmare to work with. It was real hard to figure out what’s going on in that diabolical head of hers, and I’m sure Twelve doesn’t really know himself, because she almost convinced him to kill me, while I was trapped inside a Dalek, which Missy had practically forced me into._

_Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Clara Oswald, getting stuck in a Dalek – again? Trust me, Doctor, it’s a “habit” that I have no intention of keeping, if I were to have a say in things. First, it was me, a Dalek; then, it was inside a supposed good one to figure out its mechanics; and now, it was me inside it again, but this time, not miniaturised, but just – sitting there, operating the blasted machine. Hated every second of it in there. But we were in the heart of Skaro, and Twelve was in trouble, (according to Missy, apparently), because he was walking into a trap Davros had set out, (yes, he’s back too) – Clara’s got to save The Doctor, as always!_

_But of course, The Doctor managed to save himself, and me too, when pushed up against a tight corner. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be back home, safe and sound, writing this letter to you, would I? Heh._

_Writing you a letter, like the many letters I’ve written to you, for the last nine months, even though I know for sure this time that you are not hiding behind an invisibility filter behind me reading the letter over my shoulder. Writing you yet another letter, which I know, for sure, that it will never be delivered to you in another planet, in another time._

_Silly Clara, isn’t she?_

_You told me to trust you, and I did. You promised, and I believed you. Even though the last time I made you promise something, you broke it the moment I turned my back on you – literally. Still, I believed you._

_Nine months later, I still do._

_I mean, even after all your words and your track record, I should just stop believing in you already!_

_But I couldn’t, could I? You knew it. You knew you would still have my trust because I love you. I just – I just wish you’re not so blatant in making me look like a hopeless and silly little girl, as you break your promises. At least, make it look – I don’t know – complicated, so I would have some excuses in holding onto something…_

_Oh gosh, I’m blabbering already! See, this is what happens when you leave me for nine months. I start writing nonsense in my letters to you. I feel like I’m going crazy._

_Was this what Amy went through, when you left her waiting for you? You didn’t talk much about her, but it can’t be hard to figure out how things were for her while you were off in the great big universe, lost in time? This – what I’m going through now, this is how it was, wasn’t it?_

_The girl who saved The Doctor, finally became the girl who waited._

_Why do you do this to us, Doctor? Why do you keep doing this to us?_

_Clara._

*

 

After nine months, Clara had learned to store her frustrations towards The Doctor in a little box in her head, and kept it hidden at the very back of her mind. The contents would only be spilled out in measured portions, whenever she delved deep into her memories, to retrieve a ball of energy that she did not want inhibiting her entire being.

Clara had learned to be strong – on her own. But each passing day, each passing month, it was growing harder and harder to bear, the burden growing heavier and heavier, and she became more and more tired – of holding onto an empty promise, a false hope, and of waiting for The Doctor, wishing naively he would still come back, despite all odds.

It became like a dull ache that would not go away. Even when she would distract herself with the piling workbooks she had to go through for Coal Hill Secondary School, or when she would distract herself by going off somewhere with Twelve, no matter how dangerous it would be. When the commotion had settled, and the workbooks marked and set aside, Clara’s thoughts would always return to The Doctor. The dull ache would just throb, and she could not do anything about it, but let it take hold of her.

Clara hated those days, especially when they came in worse waves. The feeling of helplessness magnified by her just sitting in the living area, not sure where to look for The Doctor, even if she wanted to.

She couldn’t, could she? Even though The Doctor told her where he had gone off to, but he had not given the exact coordinates so she could beam herself over to the right time and right place. Even with the vortex manipulator he had left behind – maybe intentionally, but most probably not, with a time travelling device in her grasp, she could not just go and see him.

_God damn you, Doctor!_ Clara thought in agony, and slammed her fist down on the desk. _I hate it when you do this!_

The cries from the next room triggered the intercom at the corner of her desk, and she immediately snapped out of her thoughts, and rushed towards the nursery room.

It was the bedroom right down the hallway from hers. It was dark, save for the night light always lit at the far corner of the room. The window was half shut, letting a bit of the autumnal air in, keeping the room cool and comfortable for the baby. The cries came from the cot next to the window, where the drapes billowed with the night air, and sent the mobile above the cot spiralling a lullaby with its hanging planets and stars.

“Oh, I’m sorry, love. Shhh…” Clara hushed the little crying form as she picked him up from his bed. “Did mommy wake up? I’m so sorry mommy woke you…”

Clara craddled the baby in her arms, as she sat down on the armchair situated just next to the cot. She looked down at the writhing baby in her arms, and rocked him gently until his cries slowed down to mere cooing, and his tearstained cheeks began to dry. Safe against his mother’s bosom, the baby eventually fell to the rhythm of the familiar sway, and was fast asleep again.

Clara listened to the shallow breathing of her son against her chest, and tried not to cry herself.

While her Doctor was off battling for another planet’s safety, and while Twelve was MIA, dreading over the sky falling on his head, Clara had been pregnant.

Of course, she did not tell The Doctors about it; she didn’t even mention anything about the baby in any of the letters Clara wrote to him, albeit were unsent letters to The Doctor. And when Twelve finally returned from his hiding, one look at how worried Twelve was about his so-called impending death, Clara had not the heart to worry The Doctor further with this piece of news.

Suddenly, Clara’s child became a secret. A secret, at least to Twelve, and The Doctor – the father.

But if it weren’t for Matty, Clara would not have survived the last nine months as she did. If it weren’t for caring for the one piece of The Doctor he had unwittingly left behind, Clara would have done something stupid a long time ago – something stupid like punching random numbers on the vortex manipulator, and throwing herself into unknown worlds out there just with the slightest hope that she would end up in Trenzalore, where The Doctor was.

_“Just for the hell of it, let me save you!”_

Clara would always remember what The Doctor said, when he went into his own time stream and risked it collapsing in on itself, just to save her from dying.

Even now, even when he was not around, and most probably without his knowledge, The Doctor was saving her – just for the heck of it. By having their child, craddling him in her arms now, and putting him to sleep again in his cot after about an hour, The Doctor was inadvertently saving Clara – his Clara. Saving her from insanity, from stupidity.

Clara smiled down at Matty, as she pulled his blankie over his tiny form. It became a habit for her to check under the pillow right above his head, where she left the vortex manipulator The Doctor had left behind, everytime she came near to the cot.

She did not know why she had hidden the device there, (Clara did not know if it even constituted as “hiding”, as the device was not actually in danger of being stolen by anyone), but somehow, she felt, having it anywhere else in the apartment would not be as appropriate, as having something from Matty’s father, so close to the child himself.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Remember, my darling boy,” Clara whispered to him. “This is not a leaf. This is your page one.”

_October 10, 2015_

_My Doctor,_

_I saw Twelve’s dead body today. We found ourselves in an underwater base not far from the current present, haunted by what seemed like ghosts that came from an alien spacecraft the crew had picked up a few days ago. One thing led to another, and Twelve had to travel back in time, to when the world was not flooded. Despite being on constant communication with Twelve, it scared me witless nonetheless, seeing his body, floating outside in the deep ocean – alike to the ghosts that were roaming the base._

_It really put things into perspective, especially since it was just the last time I saw Twelve, when he was going on about dying, (even recording a will and testament in light of it). To see him then, lifeless and possessed – it was more than I could handle, really._

_It brought me back to the time when I returned to Trenzalore the third time, and saw a 300-year-older you still hanging about in the clock tower basement, and subsequently, your “death” – your regeneration._

_Have I gone back yet, I wonder? Has it already been 300 years already, where you are, light years away from me? Have you – “died”, already?_

_It scares me to think that such a future still exists in your timeline, about to happen at any moment. And me, this me here writing to you, will not be there when it does. Another me, from the past, will be in my place instead, will watch you regenerate, and fade away from her. While me, right here, wish it’s not the kind of future you have to go through, the kind of future set in stone for you._

_For once, I wish you would be selfish, and snatch back what you deserve that has been taken away from you, again and again. I wish you had done something with this new matrix the TARDIS has figured out, and just – come home to me. You don’t have to fight a war between two universes, and I don’t have to see you die when you are 300 years older. We can be together for a change. You can be here with me, living a normal life, being a normal person – with me._

_But you’re never the selfish kind, are you? You always have to poke your nose into something, somewhere, and somehow, take it upon yourself to save all species-kind – just because you called yourself The Doctor, and made a promise with that name, once upon a time. You would never put your personal want and need above anyone else’s, not even your love for your old companion here. That was why you never said the things you wanted to when we were together. That was why even with that last phonecall you patched through to the then future me, you could never tell me you love me._

_I would never expect you to be otherwise, really, but for once, I wish you would. Just to break me off from this sick cycle carousel. Just to surprise me or something. I don’t know! Just be someone I don’t know, The Doctor I don’t know – and come back home to me._

_But I know also that this letter, if you ever gotten around to reading it, would make you mad at me, I’m sure. Because I’m not being the companion, the Clara, you have always known me to be. Understanding and submissive. Not strong, but rather weak with her bargains. I know you would call me silly and selfish for asking this of you, because your Clara would not ask this of her Doctor, knowing the responsibilities he has with the name he carries._

_But I suppose, this is what happens to a person when she is in love. You’d want to be selfish, and you’d want things to go your way. For once in your life, after everything else has gone their own way, and you’re with nothing to hold onto and to call your own, you’d want something that you’d feel you finally deserve. You’d want to be non-sensible and ask for the impossible._

_Us and our impossibilities…_

_Whatever it takes, to have the person you love back in your arms again._

_Whatever it takes, to have you come home to me again._

_Your Clara._

*

 

Clara brought Matty out to see the autumn leaves for the first time that day. Matty was barely a month old, he could not actually raise his head just yet, and Clara still had to support the back of his neck. Not to mention that he would probably not remember his first autumn at all. But still, Clara felt that it was important that Matty meets the autumn season, as early on in his life as possible.

Because it was important that her son knew about the origins of her own story, how she was like an autumn leaf that blew her way into her parents’ lives more than 20 years ago. It was important for Matty to know that like an autumn leaf, that was how his father blew his way into his mother’s life barely a year ago. It was important for him to know how like an autumn leaf, his mother and father had travelled to worlds across the universe, always up to no good, until the day he left her.

It was important as well that Matty knew how he came into Clara’s life, much like an autumn leaf some nine months ago. It was important for him to know that she was, is and will always hold on to him tight, like the one leaf The Doctor had gifted her when she was trapped inside of his time stream, and found her way back into The Doctor’s arms.

It was important for Matty to know that he was the reason Clara found her way home.

So, on that not so special day made special, Clara bundled up Matty in the warmest onesie she could find, and wrapped him up all toasty in his blankies. She took him out of his nursery room, and stood outside on the pavement, under the rustling autumnal leaves above their heads.

Clara watched as Matty looked up at the blue sky and golden leaves with wonder. His greenish blue eyes that resembled so much of The Doctor’s, taking in all that was new to him. He did not cry, but his arms flailed widely, as if trying to reach up and touch the blues and the golds.

“Take a good look at this beautiful world, Matty,” she told him, as he cooed away, lifting his face up towards the October wind as it made the leaves above them dance like fairies. “This is how mommy came into grandma and grandpa’s lives, so many years ago. How daddy came into mommy’s life – and how you came into mommy’s life.”

“And one day, just like an autumn leaf, daddy is going to blow his way back home to us,” Clara added, her eyes went unfocused. “Or maybe, one day, mommy is going to hold on to you tight, and we will blow our way to where daddy is – and we’ll be together again, as a family.”

As if understanding what his mother was saying, Matty’s eyes shifted and looked at her. He attempted a smile at her, and moved in a sort of dance for her, as if letting her know that he, too, was glad of how he came into her life, how he had blown his way into her life.

Clara smiled, and dipped her head down to kiss Matty’s forehead. She pulled him closer to her chest, to her heart, and whispered ‘I love you’ into his tiny ear.

Just then, a maple leaf right above them broke free from its stem, and drifted surely down towards them. It went down, down, down – until it came to rest on Matty’s blankies.

The smell of autumn hit their noses, and Matty gave out an excitable cry.

Clara picked the leaf up and placed it close to her nose. She took a long sniff, taking in the smell of new beginnings, and the memories that brought her to where she was standing right then.

She held the leaf up for Matty to see. The baby tried to reach for the leaf, his fisted hands stretching out towards it.

“Remember, my darling boy,” Clara whispered to him. “This is not a leaf. This is your page one.”

 

*

 

Twelve never came back to Trenzalore again, after he dropped The Doctor off some 10 months ago. And after so many months, The Doctor was beginning to wonder if Twelve had kept his promise in taking care of Clara, keeping her out of harm’s way.

It was a quiet and still night in the town of Christmas, good enough for The Doctor to take a stroll outside the vicinity of the truth field, and get a bit of fresh air after the hefty dinner the villagers had cooked up for him, in gratitude of looking after their beloved town.

It had been some weeks since the last attack on the town of Christmas, from the Sontarans, if one were to keep track. Whilst The Doctor enjoyed the stillness of the town, he was as well hanging at the edge of the seat. Because he knew his enemies well, and that they were pacing themselves, building up another strategy of attack, and perhaps even reinforcing another platoon to strike down on Christmas harder than the last. The Doctor did not even want to start on what Papel Mainframe was cooking up, while hanging in space right above his head. Knowing his old friend the Mother Superious Tasha Lem, it would not come down easy on The Doctor.

But in the fragment of time in between wars, The Doctor allowed himself to think a little. His feet took him further and further away from the town centre, as his mind too drifted further and further off, far away back to Earth some light years away, where Clara was, and where Twelve would still be visiting from time to time.

The Doctor thought about the adventures Twelve would get himself and Clara into, and how dangerous they would be to his dear Clara. He thought about Clara too, of course; whether or not she had been keeping her promise to him, writing him all those letters he would never receive, and whether or not he was still constantly in her mind. He then thought about the promise he made to Clara in return, and wondered if the day would come when he would actually keep his promise for once.

It was silly of him to have left the vortex manipulator behind; he did not realised of his clumsiness until he was well back into the basement of the clock tower, and felt that something was missing on his writing desk, where the device had always sat. Seeing that Twelve was not planning on returning to Trenzalore for him, The Doctor, in the meantime, had no idea how he was going to go back to Clara, and it tore him up everyday that the option was closed for him.

He had been busy, of course, gathering spare parts to try to fix up another vortex manipulator, but it was hard to do so, stuck in a town that was not technologically advanced enough to have space time manipulation added to their history books. He could only rely on the armies of Cybermen and Daleks and others sent down from the skies, but most of the time, they were all futile, as almost none of the spare parts were good enough for a fix-her-upper after the dust had settled. They were either too badly damaged, or they were just plain useless when it comes to building a vortex manipulator.

When he walked past the spot where the TARDIS had last materialised, bringing him back here the last time, he kicked himself a few times when he remembered that he had allowed the TARDIS to merge herself from Twelve’s timeline, to the version in his timeline, and ultimately, “giving away” his TARDIS to Twelve, as he was not about to go wandering off anywhere anytime soon. Oh, how all his problems would be solved if the TARDIS were still around. Sure, she might resist a bit in her own way, pulling the brakes on her own or turning off the system entirely to make her point, but at least with the TARDIS, he could transport himself back to Earth quite easily.

It became a habit for The Doctor that whenever he was close to the landing spot of the TARDIS, as he had came to distinguish, he would stand over the square silhouette, and re-marked the four sides again and again. Just in case Twelve decided to bring the TARDIS back again, he kept on assuring himself, the ol’ girl would know where to land. But on nights like this, when the TARDIS was certainly not coming back, he would just stand in the middle of the square he drew about himself. He would pretend he was back in the blue box, ready to go off to wherever he wanted, in which these days, there was only one place he wanted to go off to – back to Clara.

It did crossed The Doctor’s mind numerous times that he could just reach into the cracked wall in the basement, and ask for help from the Time Lords. But of course, time and time again, he would strike off the idea as soon as it popped up in his head. To let the Time Lords know of his whereabouts, just because he wanted spare parts for a vortex manipulator would be rather silly. To open up this universe and allow the Time Lords to come through and declare a possible war, just because he was love sick, that would most definitely be preposterous.

The Doctor had made his promise to take care of the people of the town of Christmas, to stand in the way of Papel Mainframe and his enemies from destroying the entire planet, as well as the Time Lords from coming over – and he was not about to break his promise right then.

_But what about my promise to Clara?_ The Doctor thought, and heaved a defeated sigh.

He inhaled in the fresh air of autumn, and let the crispness of a new season fill his lungs and head and hearts. The Doctor just had to find another way to keep his promise to Clara. It would be near impossible, but he just had to find a way, by hook or by crook.

_Finding the impossible to get to my Impossible Girl,_ The Doctor thought and attempted a smile.

The Doctor was starting on his trudge back to town, when he passed by an old maple tree, and one of the last few leaves left holding on to dear life, spiralled its way down to The Doctor’s feet. He picked it up, and was immediately transported back to the first days he met Clara. How he had found her own maple leaf sandwiched on the first page of _101 Places to See_. How she had sacrificed her maple leaf that had held so many memories of her mother and herself, just to save the people of Akhaten. And how he had given her a new one filled with hope, when he was on his way to save her, after she had spent lifetimes saving different generations of him.

The Doctor placed the leaf against the tip of his nose, and breathed in. The smell of stories, and the smell of history. The smell of a past well lived, and the smell of a future never lived. The smell of memories, and the smell of fantasies. The smell of the life he shared with Clara, and the smell of another he could not share with her.

The Doctor opened his eyes that he had closed haphazardly, held on to the stem of this maple leaf as if he were holding on to life itself, and continued on the rest of the journey back to town.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Of course you don’t, you’re a time machine,” Clara whispered against the doorframe. “You never have to wait for someone to come back to you.”

Clara had just finished up her last English class of the day, when the familiar chugs of the TARDIS arriving caught her ear. A smile formed on her face, and she quickly packed up her books and papers, and rushed towards the janitor’s room, where Twelve had came to materialise whenever he drops by Coal Hill Secondary School.

It had been a week since Clara saw The Doctor. After meeting the young girl Ashildr, and the events that took place in her little Vikings village with the Mire some centuries ago, Clara had wanted to give time travelling a little break, and go back to the normal life she had been neglecting. Most importantly, go back to little Matty and spend some quality time with him.

It hit a nerve in Clara, when she saw young Ashildr lying there on the bed, and her father crying beside her body. Not to mention, seeing Lofty calming his baby down as he cried away in fear by the barrels of water filled with electric eels. Clara could only imagine how she would react if a war were to be declared on Earth by alien life forms in less than 12 hours, and she would not know how to hold a gun proper to keep Matty from harm. And how scared Matty would be, crying in his cot as the fear of some impending doom he was not certain of settled more and more uncomfortably in his little heart.

When she got back that night, she had gone straight home. She had sent the babysitter away a few hours earlier, and spent the rest of the night holding Matty close to her, tighter than she usually would. That night, she had even pulled his cot next to her bed in the already crowded bedroom, and had kept the cot in the same room as her since then. When he had woken up in the middle of the night crying, Clara had shifted him to her bed next to her, and propped around him enough pillows so he would feel comfortable and wouldn’t roll about. It crossed her mind for a fragment of a second that not too long ago, The Doctor had been sleeping soundly at the exact spot where Matty was lying now, writhing uneasily, reaching out to his mother with those tiny arms of his.

So, to get Matty to sleep from that night forth, Clara got to telling stories to him – stories about her adventures with The Doctor. She told Matty about the journey to the Rings of Akhaten, Clara’s first official trip with The Doctor, and how mommy and daddy had saved the lives of millions in Akhaten, when they “fed” to Grandfather all their memories and hopes and dreams, including the ones that never came to be – and thus, saving another planet from destruction. Matty must had liked the bedtime story, because towards the end, he could barely keep his eyes open, and was eventually sound asleep – like his father, on this same spot he was lying in.

Nights came and went, and Clara recounted her many adventures with The Doctor to their son. She told him about the time when they were trapped in a 1983 Soviet submarine with the Grand Marshal Skaldak on the loose, (she even told Matty about Professor Grisenko, whom had took efforts in songs to calm mommy down when the situation seemed dire). She told him about the time when they stopped by the Caliburn House in 1974, and had a close encounter with what seemed to be a ghost.

Not to mention, the time when the Van Baalen salvage ship picked up the TARDIS unintentionally, and mommy and daddy had ran around the bigger-on-the-inside TARDIS to try to save daddy’s beloved time machine. She had also told Matty about daddy teaching mommy how to steer the TARDIS in basic mode, how the TARDIS had never seemed to like her for some reason, and how she had stumbled upon what seemed like daddy’s old study room, where he had stuffed everything he had chanced upon in his many adventures, including an old baby cot that mommy could only guessed was The Doctor’s own.

Clara did worry if some of the stories would give Matty nightmares; they certainly did for Clara on those nights when the adventures were still fresh in her mind. But the stories seemed to soothe Matty every night, and if Clara had her son figured out without the knowledge of baby talk, Clara would have thought Matty actually looked forward to the bedtime stories; how his arms would flail in the air as he cooed excitably, as if saying to his mother: “Story time, mommy. Story time!”

Clara could not help smiling whenever she saw her son getting so restless over stories about his daddy. She would like to believe that was how she brings the presence of The Doctor into his son’s life, through bedtime stories that Matty would go to sleep with, hopefully dreaming about too.

As she reenacted each story to the T, it did bring a sense of calmness towards Clara’s heart too. In a way, she was keeping memories of The Doctor vivid in her mind, holding onto him ever tighter, despite him being galaxies away. A smile would spread across her face whenever The Doctor was brought up in the stories. Alas, on most nights, when she finished her stories, and Matty was sound asleep, a shroud of sorrow would cocoon about her as she pulled the blanket over her. On some nights, she would miss The Doctor so much, she would weep quietly next to Matty, her tears running down her cheeks and soaking up Matty’s pillows.

Those nights, Clara wished so hard that The Doctor would come back to them, and lie on the other side of the bed next to Matty, so she could watch the two most important men in her life sleeping soundly, in her protection for a change.

It was during one of those nights that a string of ideas popped into Clara’s head, keeping her awake long after Matty had gone to sleep. The things The Doctor had told her – how the TARDIS had latched on to the memories of Clara on The Doctor in the telepathic archive, and how the TARDIS had found its way to him in Trenzalore much to Twelve’s dismay – they all started resurfacing in her mind, and before long, Clara suddenly realised there was a way after all to get to The Doctor, no matter how far apart they were.

It had never been about waiting for The Doctor to return. It had always been instead, to blow herself like an autumn maple leaf, back to The Doctor’s arms.

The morning after the epiphanic night, Clara had since been bringing along the vortex manipulator to work. She would slip the device into her bag when she said goodbye to Matty for the day, and leave him in the care of the nanny. And every night, after the nanny had left, she would replace the device back under the pillow next to Matty in the cot, before picking him up for a hello.

And that day, when Twelve materialised in her school again, all those days of carrying the vortex manipulator along with her to school, risking some naughty student going through her stuff and stealing it, finally paid off.

It took Clara awhile to convince Twelve to get out of the TARDIS, and breathe in some fresh air, even clean up the school a bit if he fancies, after his return from his trip to 1651 England, (where he had, apparently, ran into a 300-year-old Ashildr again, and with that, the leonine alien Leandro, who had his own hidden agenda to open up a portal and transport his kin over to their world).

But little did Clara know, it would take her even longer to convince the TARDIS to reveal The Doctor’s whereabouts to her. Her heart was beating so fast when she stepped into the TARDIS and greeted Twelve again. By the time she was alone with the TARDIS, her heart was already in her throat. Any minute now, Twelve was going to return, and she would not be able to get enough information from the TARDIS as she had planned.

“Now, how should I start, eh?” Clara whispered to herself, as her eyes scanned the control system in its entirety, all the while sensing that the TARDIS had already known that she was up to something with Twelve away.

Her eyes fell on the telepathic circuit controls, and thought that she would start where it had all began, where the TARDIS had managed to extract all those memories of her and The Doctor in the first place. Clara cringed as she inserted her fingers back into the gooey columns, and looked up at the TARDIS nervously.

“OK, I know you’ve never liked me, but in the name of The Doctor and all the adventures we’ve gone on together, the three of us, please – please help me now with a favour,” Clara said to the TARDIS, hoping that the time machine was listening. “I really – really need to find The Doctor, my Doctor – and I know you know where he is, in there somewhere in that big archive of yours.”

“The Doctor told me that you managed to reorganise your matrix system to fixate on his whereabouts, even merging yourself now to his version of yourself to materialise into his world without causing too much damage to the universe,” she added. “You’ve even transported Twelve back and forth several times, so I know you’ve got the coordinates in there somewhere, memorised into your system.”

“So, I’m begging you, please – please bring me to him,” Clara said, looking up at the rotund with the Gallifreyan inscriptions, eyes filled with hope and desperation. “I know he can’t come back to me, as long as you don’t go to him. I know now it is me that has to go to him. So, please, please… Bring me to my Doctor – please…”

Clara stopped speaking for a moment for the TARDIS to respond, even holding her breath waiting on its response. Silence seemed to blare inside the blue box, before the cloister bells went off, as if warning Twelve that his companion was up to no good in his absence, and that he should straight away come back.

“No, no, don’t – don’t do that!” She hissed at the console. “Why are you doing that?”

“Look, look, you don’t even need to transport me there,” Clara took her right hand out from the telepathic circuit columns and, with the tips of her fingers still stained with the gooey materials, reached into her bag and pulled out the vortex manipulator for the TARDIS to see. “I’ve got my own teleporting device, so you don’t even have to go off without Twelve! If you could just – give me the coordinates –”

The TARDIS was relentless. The cloister bells tolled even louder, as if urging Twelve to hurry back here.

Clara’s hopes were dashed when she saw how uncorporative and insensitive and unreasonable the TARDIS was being. Her desperations grew until tears welled up in her eyes, and with that, frustrating anger, as she hit the machine in a moment of rage.

“Why won’t you help me!” Clara yelled at the TARDIS. “You’ve brought Twelve back to The Doctor before – again and again! WHY WON’T YOU HELP ME NOW, YOU STUPID – TIME-WIMEY, WHY WON’T YOU HELP ME!”

Clara heard the key turning in the lock of the front door of the TARDIS, and all her emotions just rained down to pool at the bottom of her feet. Her time was up. Twelve had returned. The TARDIS would not help her find The Doctor.

Clara had never felt so much hopelessness in her entire being, as she pulled her fingers away from the telepathic circuit columns, and shoved the vortex manipulator back into her bag. She rubbed the tears away from her cheeks, and took a deep breath to recollect herself, just as Twelve swung open the door.

“What’s going on with you, girl?” Twelve stormed in with a mop swung over his left shoulder, as he appraoched the console and started tweaking the switches about. “I’m busy with the third floor, and I can’t concentrate with you going off like that!”

“This behaviour is inexcusable – you’re going to get us noticed!” Twelve added, and pulled down a lever, which quieted the cloister bells, and the TARDIS wheezed back to the dull buzz during standby mode. “There – much better. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a floor to mop…”

Twelve’s sentence trailed off when he finally noticed Clara standing in a corner there, her arms wrapped tightly about herself, and her head lowered.

“Clara, what’s wrong?” Twelve quickly went to Clara’s side. “Did she say something to you?”

Clara kept her head lowered, her eyes still watering up, as she shook her head frantically.

“What’s the matter then, eh?” Twelve pressed on, encircling his other arm around Clara.

Clara lifted her head up and quickly wiped the tears away. Twelve looked confused, not quite sure what had just happened.

“You – uh – you…” Clara struggled to find the right words. “You – You went off on an adventure without me!”

She threw a light punch on Twelve, but it was stronger than she had intended, and the older Doctor winced at the pain, as his hand shot up to cover his upper arm.

“Why did you go off like that without me?” Clara feigned anger at Twelve. “You think I enjoy being stuck here with a bunch of 15-year-olds now, do you?”

“Oi, it was an emergency,” Twelve replied in a hurry. “I was looking for a potentially dangerous amulet, and I can’t just hang around waiting for classes to be over, so we can go off together. That portal might have opened up completely, and the world might have been destroyed before you know it!”

“Yeah, I know,” Clara breathed, and calmed down. “It’s just – I missed out on another great adventure with you.”

“Oh, Clara,” Twelve smiled. “There will be many more to come, I promise! By then, what’s this one missed opportunity, eh?”

Clara smiled and pulled Twelve into a tight hug. She felt The Doctor tensed up, and squirmed a little to get out of the embrace as soon as possible.

“Alright, alright, let me go,” Twelve said. “I’ve got an entire school to mop up.”

“You don’t actually have to do that, you know,” Clara said, releasing him from her hold. “You’re not exactly the caretaker of this school anymore, nor were you ever, if you think about it.”

“I know,” Twelve shrugged. “But I got the last caretaker fired when I came in as an undercover, so I might as well get the job done.”

With that, Twelve walked out of the TARDIS, and once again, left Clara all alone again inside the blue box.

Clara watched the door closed behind Twelve, and she shut her eyes in despair. The tears started coming again, and she could not bring herself to face the console this time.

“I miss him so much, do you not know that? So much more than you can ever imagine,” she said to the TARDIS, her voice shaking uncontrollably. “Do you know what it’s like, sitting here for months, waiting for him to come back, when all he ever does is not coming back?”

Clara walked across the bridge and placed a hand on the doorknob.

“Of course you don’t, you’re a time machine,” Clara whispered against the doorframe. “You never have to wait for someone to come back to you.”

 

*

 

The TARDIS remained for a moment, as she heard the short echo of the door closing as Clara left the blue box, and she waited until Clara’s footsteps were out of earshot – if TARDISes had ears, that is, before she started up her engines again, running through the latest entries of memories from Clara when she inserted her fingers into the telepathic circuit system. (The TARDIS was not sure why Clara even did that, seeing that it would not help her get the coordinates from the TARDIS any easier; the TARDIS was always amused at Clara’s lacked of understanding of how she works).

From the updated telepathic link, the TARDIS managed to extract from Clara the more recent memories she had gone through, and displayed them on the screen. There were still photos of The Doctor, from the last link. But this time around, fresher ones too, of The Doctor’s one night with Clara some 10 months ago. The Doctor sipping coffee that he did not like, and The Doctor saying goodbye to Clara again. And of course, there were images of Clara finding out that she was pregnant, the entire course of her nine-month pregnancy, and finally – photos, so many photos, of Matty – cradled in his mother’s arms, crying out for her, listening to her stories, extending his little arms towards the pillow where the vortex manipulator was hidden, and reaching out to that one maple leaf that came to stay in his life.

_“One day, mommy is going to hold on to you tight, and we will blow our way to where daddy is – and we’ll be together again, as a family.”_

The TARDIS could hear Clara said to Matty that autumn evening.

The TARDIS could not bring Clara to The Doctor without the consent of Twelve, and seeing that Clara did not want Twelve to know of her plans, it was impossible to bring her to The Doctor, even though she could have easily done so.

It would be dangerous for Clara to travel on her own with an unsteady teleporting device without the help of a proper time machine, so the TARDIS had withheld information of The Doctor’s coordinates from her, before on a whim of stupidity, she would go spiralling through time and space, only to have it malfunction halfway and materialise herself somewhere unfamiliar and dangerous – or worse, have her stuck in a pocket vortex, unable to come back to solid ground. The Doctor would be furious of the TARDIS if she had let such danger befall on his favourite companion.

But now, with the recent updates of Clara’s memories – about the vortex manipulator still in her possession, and the birth of Matty, The Doctor’s son – the TARDIS knew just what to do next.

Before Twelve could return from his human duties of being a caretaker, (if the TARDIS had eyes, she would certainly roll them at Twelve’s peculiarity towards normal basic human activities), the TARDIS set about with the controls, searching for the vortex manipulator she had gotten a hold of when Clara showed it to her.

It wasn’t long before she found it, displayed on the screen, the comings and goings of Clara back in her apartment, bidding farewell to the nanny for her day’s job, and going to say hi to Matty by the cot. The TARDIS watched quietly as Clara slipped the vortex manipulator back under the plushed pillow with a giraffe patchwork on it, and had a fixed of the exact coordinates.

When Twelve returned, the TARDIS saved the coordinates and threw it at the back of the archives, and made sure Twelve could not retrieve it accidentally, or even know of its existence within the system. She made sure all the images she had latched on to from Clara’s recent memories were deleted from the screen display, and was on idle mode when Twelve came to set them out into orbit.

Then, she waited.

The TARDIS waited for the right moment to arrive, when she could activate the vortex manipulator under her meticulous watch, and send it to teleport through time and space.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, a baby – of my kind,” He answered haphazardly. “A baby – that is me.”

Today was a tricky one, when the Zygons descended upon the town of Christmas in their fifth attempt – or was it the sixth or seventh, The Doctor had lost count already – to destroy the village, and find a way to close the cracked on the wall so the Time Lords could not come through.  
  
The population of the village doubled in numbers, and The Doctor was having quite a hard time differentiating the real villagers from the shape-shifting aliens. It took The Doctor close to five days to clear out this fleet of Zygons, and got the village back in ship shape order again. It mostly involved The Doctor luring the pack into the truth field, where unable to disguise themselves in their human forms, unwittingly gave out signs that they were indeed Zygons.  
  
The day drew to a close, and the villagers were left to put out fires all over the town, as The Doctor retreated back to his sanctuary at the basement of the clock tower, and told Barnables, who had become The Doctor’s self-appointed assistant, or companion even, not to disturb him unless another army of aliens had come to visit. The Doctor could do without the night’s feast to celebrate yet another of The Doctor’s victory, as resting his aching body was top priority then.  
  
The Doctor had just stepped out of the shower, and had left his tattered jacket hanging to air off the smell of dust and the terrible residue of Zygons splattered all over him, when he heard footsteps rushing down towards the basement.  
  
_Not a moment of peace, I tell you!_ The Doctor thought exasperatingly.  
  
“Barnables, I thought I told you not to bother me unless –”  
  
“But sir,” the young boy interjected. “We don’t know what it is. It just – popped out of nowhere! We think it’s an alien.”  
  
“Well, what is it this time?” The Doctor asked, already grasping for his sonic screwdriver and heading up the stairs. “The Whisper Men? The Silence? They have been rather quiet lately…”  
  
“No, sir,” Barnables said, when The Doctor was face-to-face with him. “It’s a – a baby, sir.”  
  
“A baby?” The Doctor asked. “What baby is it – a Zygon, a Dalek? Never thought I’d see the day when I get to see baby Zygons or baby Daleks, but what?”  
  
“A – human baby, sir,” Barnables said. “Or what seems like a human baby. Me dad and some villagers are bringing it over now.”  
  
The Doctor looked up, and saw a crowd forming around five members of the village, as they carried what looked like a cot from afar towards the clock tower, where The Doctor and Barnables stood waiting at the front steps.  
  
The adrenaline post-battle with the Zygons was still running through The Doctor’s veins, and he already had the sonic screwdriver turned on, wheezing away, even before the cot was put down in front of him. But his fingers shook when he had a closer look at the cot, and his thumb slipped from the button on the sonic screwdriver, flickering it on and off, before eventually turning it off completely.  
  
_It can’t be,_ The Doctor thought, as he took careful steps towards the cot.  
  
He strained his neck to see what was inside the cot, and saw a little baby, sound asleep, unaware of the commotion that was surrounding him then.  
  
“Where did you find – it?” The Doctor asked the villagers, not taking his eyes off the little child.  
  
“Way out of the town centre, Doctor,” Barnables’ dad answered. “We were clearing off the outer perimeters when out of nowhere, this thing appaeared right in front of our eyes!”  
  
“Where exactly out of the town centre?” The Doctor asked again, this time holding out his sonic screwdriver and giving the cot a thorough scan, just to make sure it was not all just smokes and mirrors – not some alien life form with a perception filter, or a Zygon masking as a human baby.  
  
It wasn’t. It was as real as the villagers that now huddled close around him.  
  
“Well, we believe, it’s where the blue box used to come about, Doctor,” one of the villagers answered. “That square box you’d mark out on the ground – the cot just appeared right in the middle of it.”  
  
The Doctor snapped the sonic screwdriver off, and squinted at the readings that were showing on the display.  
  
“So, it’s true then…” he muttered to himself.  
  
“Wh-What is it, sir?” Barnables asked, finally bucking up enough courage to step forward and have a clearer look at the baby. “Is it a Zygon – a Zygon baby?”  
  
“No, Barnables, it’s not a Zygon baby, but it is an alien baby, nonetheless,” The Doctor said.  
  
He knelt down by the cot, and ran his hands through the familiar markings on the sides of the cot.  
  
“Where is it from, sir?” Barnables pressed on.  
  
“Well, if my screwdriver is not faulty at this moment,” The Doctor gulped as he tried to construct the right words in his mind. “It’s a baby – from Gallifrey.”  
  
“A Time Lord baby,” he added, and inched closer to the sleeping form held safely under its blankies, so close that he could almost hear the shallow breathing of the baby.  
  
_It can’t – it just can’t…_ The Doctor thought.  
  
“You mean, the baby is of your kind?” One of the villagers asked, The Doctor was not sure which one, as he was too caught up on the Gallifreyan inscriptions on the side of the cot – an inscription that he had seen too many times before upon the old cot he had stashed in one of the storage rooms of the TARDIS while he was still on board.  
  
“Yes, a baby – of my kind,” He answered haphazardly. “A baby – that is me.”

 

*

 

The TARDIS had waited until Twelve had gone outside of the blue box, before she began pulling up all the necessary files to get things going. Throughout the entire day, Twelve had had problems getting in touch with Clara through the phone, and it slowly dawned on the TARDIS that something was amiss that day at the tail end of October.

Earlier, the TARDIS had patched a call through from one named Osgood, stating to Twelve that “Nightmare Scenario” had happened. After teleporting about London, speaking to a couple of Zygon commanders disguised as little girls, and rushing The Doctor to the UNIT safe house in South London, the TARDIS knew this current world was not in a safe state for the time being.  
  
She had located the whereabouts of the vortex manipulator, which much to her relief, was still where it had always been – inside Matty’s cot, under the small pillow with the giraffe print on it. Yet, it was not enough to shed the TARDIS of her worries, as Matty had seemed more fidgety than he usually was before his 2PM feeding. The nanny was nowhere in sight, and neither was his mother, Clara.  
  
The TARDIS had taken the initiative to give the entire apartment building a thorough scan from where she was, and noted that something strange was happening around that particular neighbourhood.  
  
Not taking any chances, the TARDIS immediately locked on to the vortex manipulator, and inserted the coordinates that would transport the entire cot, Matty and the giraffe pillow as well, out of Clara’s apartment, and settled them temporarily inside of the TARDIS, where The Doctor’s old cot with the Gallifreyan inscriptions was.  
  
It was fortunate that the TARDIS did what she did, as just split seconds after the cot had materialised into thin air, the nanny – or more precisely, the Zygon copy of the nanny – returned, and with every intention of taking Matty away from Clara’s apartment. Matty’s disappearance merely confused the Zygon slightly, before it stepped out of the nursery room again, not thinking much of the baby and where he had gone.  
  
Matty settled down without much fuss when the TARDIS transferred him into The Doctor’s cot, together with the giraffe pillow and the vortex manipulator hidden underneath it. It was during this time that the TARDIS got a good look at the infant, and noticed how alike his eyes were to The Doctor’s she had once knew.  
  
Twelve had just stepped back into the TARDIS, and was about to go off with the UNIT team to save a kidnapped Osgood, (and with that, reestablished his position as the President of the World), when the TARDIS readjusted the coordinates on the vortex manipulator, and with the constant reading from the TARDIS herself, she managed to beam the cot out of her.  
  
She sent Matty soaring through space and time towards his father, light years away in a planet called Trenzalore, where she knew at the exact time he arrives, The Doctor would have finished another battle with another generation of Zygons, and there, would be safe in the care of his father – if only until things had settled down on this side of the universe.

 

*

 

It had been close to five hours now, since the baby appeared in the town called Christmas. A nanny had been appointed amongst the many mothers from the village, and she was responsible for feeding the baby once every two hours or so, and changing his diapers when they needed a fresh one. It wasn’t hard to deduce every time the baby launched into fits of cries and screams, as The Doctor was fluent in baby talk, and could let the nanny know when it was time for her to drop by.

Unfortunately, The Doctor had barely time to himself, as people were coming in and out of the basement of the clock tower, and he could hardly focus on anything that was running through his mind on warp speed.  
  
The Doctor had ran scans on the baby over and over again with his sonic screwdriver, but he could not get much out of the readings, but the fact that he was of Gallifreyan kind, and coming out of nowhere in the very cot he had slept in when he was a baby, The Doctor could conclude no further than the fact that the baby was most probably himself some one thousand years ago.  
  
Not to mention, the baby had the same eyes as he did. It was like looking into his own reflection, every time he caught the baby staring at the mad man outside of the box, sitting in his little corner by the wall with a crack that glows.  
  
When the nanny had excused herself after yet another diaper change, The Doctor finally got up enough courage to approach the baby cooing away in the cot. Perhaps have a heart-to-heart talk with him, and gauge on where he came from, and how he came to be in the planet Trenzalore.  
  
The moment the baby fixed his gaze on The Doctor, he went on an excitable fit that got him bouncing on his little back, and making baby noises.  
  
“Ah, no, I’m afraid, I’m not your mommy,” The Doctor chuckled, and pulled up a seat next to the cot. “Which begs me to question: who is your mommy?”  
  
The baby kept on going with the baby noises, which only The Doctor could translate as: “Mommy, mommy, mommy!”  
  
“What, the lady who just changed your diapers?” The Doctor speculated. “No, no, I don’t think she’s your mommy either.”  
  
Then, the baby brought the little fist of hand he had been chewing on out from his mouth, and pointed his wet fingers at The Doctor, and went: “Dah!”  
  
The Doctor was surprised, and gave a widened smile.  
  
“Well, aren’t you a smart one?” The Doctor replied. “I am, indeed, The Doctor.”  
  
The baby pointed at The Doctor again, this time uttering a string of gibberish.  
  
“Daddy?” The Doctor was puzzled. “No, no, no. You got it the first time, I’m The Doctor. Definitely not your – daddy, or your mommy.”  
  
The baby looked at The Doctor quizzically for a moment, before he started bouncing again, and went on with the enthusiastic noises, which The Doctor translated as: “Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy!”  
  
The Doctor panicked and attempted to shush the baby, in case any one was listening in on them. (Which was a bit silly, since The Doctor was the only person in the entire town of Christmas, and the planet of Trenzalore even, who could understand what the little guy was saying).  
  
“Stop it, stop it!” The Doctor whispered, slightly flustered. “I’m not your daddy! Stop calling me your daddy!”  
  
But the baby just went on in his string of baby words: “Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy!”  
  
The baby’s fitful reaction frightened The Doctor just ever so slightly that he quickly got up from the seat next to the cot, and moved away from him. The movement was so instant that the baby stopped with the noises, and resumed his dull lull of cooing, which The Doctor caught every word of it.  
  
“Where has daddy gone? Where is daddy? Daddy, where are you? Daddy? Doctor Daddy?” The baby had gone on in his own little language.  
  
The Doctor could not make sense of the things that were unfolding right in front of his eyes. It was just a bunch of speculations at this point: The baby could be his own self when he was one, close to a millennium ago, and seeing that they had the same eyes, the baby might have mistaken The Doctor as his next of kin. The baby might have just assumed in the most naïve way that The Doctor was his daddy, which was not exactly sensical at all. But then again, The Doctor was trying to make sense of a baby, and how sensical could that be to an adult, really?  
  
Then, he turned towards the glowing crack on the wall, with low whispers coming from the other side.  
  
“Another one of your tricks, then?” The Doctor said to the crack. “Have a Time Lord over, and then maybe you can get _him_ to open up the universe instead?”  
  
“Well, tough!” The Doctor added in a hiss, as he moved himself closer to the wall, the whispers getting more rampant and clearer. “I don’t think the baby knows how to say my name just yet. So, you’ve got to wait a little longer than right now, unless you want him talking to you in gibberish!”  
  
The Doctor slumped back down on his seat, and crossed his arms.  
  
The whispers from the cracked wall quieted down to mere lulls. From the cot, The Doctor could hear the baby going on with his cooing: “Mommy, mommy, mommy…”  
  
The Doctor sighed, and took the few paces back towards him, and sat down once again next to the cot, looking down at the baby. The Doctor could have sworn that the baby was at the brink of tears, as he continued to call out to his mommy.  
  
“Wh-What’s your name, little fella?” The Doctor attempted to make small talks.  
  
“Tah!” The baby exclaimed.  
  
“Matt?” The Doctor repeated.  
  
“Tah! Tah tah tah tah!” The baby went on.  
  
“Mattimus? What’s a – Ohh, you mean, Maximus – Maximus the Great,” The Doctor said. “I see, I see. Quite a – mighty name.”  
  
The baby extended his short tiny arms towards the edge of the cot, where The Doctor had rested his arms at, making an attempt to grasp for The Doctor, as he kept on going in his own language: “Mommy, mommy, mommy…”  
  
The Doctor gave a tight smile, and helped the little tyke by lowering his hand into the cot. The baby grabbed hold of The Doctor’s forefinger almost immediately, and held it so tight that he might not let go at all. The Doctor might need to walk around with a baby hanging off his forefinger from now on.  
  
“Or maybe, it’s no trickery from the Time Lords,” The Doctor murmured to himself, watching the baby shaking his finger about like a toy. “Maybe it’s just a mistake, an accident – you coming here.”  
  
“Mommy, mommy, mommy,” the baby continued to coo.  
  
“Maybe it was an accident, you being taken away from your mommy,” The Doctor deduced. “You miss her, and you want to go back to her.”  
  
The baby looked up at The Doctor and smiled his toothless smile.  
  
“Gah!” The baby spat with excitement, happy that The Doctor Daddy finally understood the dilemma that he was in.  
  
“Don’t worry, little fella – I mean, Maximus the Great,” The Doctor said to the baby. “I’m going to figure out how you got here, and then, I’ll help you find your way home to mommy, alright?”  
  
The baby writhed about in a cheery mood, and started blubbering: “Mommy, home! Daddy, home!”  
  
“Erm, sure, why not?” The Doctor shrugged. “If mommy is home with daddy, and I get to bring you home, you’ll of course get to see daddy too.”  
  
Then, the baby settled down a tad, and said in his own language: “Mommy, home… Daddy, home…”  
  
One of The Doctor’s hearts sped up a little, when he noticed how timely the baby said the word “daddy”, as he gave The Doctor’s finger a pull. Like he was trying to tell The Doctor something with the lacked of words he could muster as a baby.  
  
“Mommy, home… with daddy. Home…” The Doctor could feel the baby’s grasp tightening around his finger a bit.  
  
The Doctor reached into the cot and pulled the blankie over his little form, as the baby started blinking sleep in his eyes. He watched attentively at the little person, little Time Lord, as he drifted off to sleep, his little left hand still holding on to the tip of The Doctor’s forefinger.  
  
The Doctor came to rest his head upon his folded arms at the edge of the cot, and before long, sleep too took over him, his right arm still dangling into the cot, a finger linked to the baby.  
  
It had been a long day, after all. Battle with the Zygons, and then straight afterwards, babysitting duties. The former, The Doctor could go on for five more days if it was called for, but the latter, one night was all it took to leave The Doctor spent and drifting off to sleep next to the cot he used to call his bed.

 

*

 

Clara practically ran all the way home to Matty, after the day’s chaos had been settled. She called out to Matty the moment she burst through the front doors, and down the hallway, to her bedroom, where she had last left Matty to the care of the nanny, whom was nowhere in sight.

How long Matty had been on his own, Clara was not sure, but the constriction that were tightening about her heart loosened when she heard Matty crying out – not in fear, but rather, happily – when he heard his mother approaching. Matty had on the widest smile Clara had ever seen, and she scooped him up and pressed him close to her.  
  
“Oh, mommy is so glad to see you too, Matty!” Clara rained kisses all over Matty’s face, so very relieved that despite the Zygon invasion that took place all around him, no harm had come his way.  
  
To Matty, mommy could have just popped off to grab his bottle of milk for a little too long, and was so very glad to see her again when she reemerged in his line of sight.  
  
But for Clara, it was more than just popping off to heat up his milk bottle.  
  
It was being abducted by a Zygon and trapped in an inversed dream, (inside of a smelly pod too, might she add), as she watched a true copy of herself roaming about, doing the Zygon revolution biddings. It was having an alien inside of her head, digging through her thoughts and memories and knowledge of everything that could be used against her to give what the Zygon Clara needed to win this so-called battle. It was the hardest attempt to not think about Matty, or even The Doctor, in case Bonnie, her Zygon copy, got a hold of those memories, and set out to make hostage of her baby.  
  
One could not imagine the moment of alleviation that rained down on Clara, when she could hold her baby in her arms again, after the nightmare she had gone through.  
  
It wasn’t until Clara was changing Matty’s diapers later that day, expecting it to be a helluva mess to clear up since she had been gone almost the entire day, when she realised that not only was Matty cleaned up proper, but that the material of the diaper cloth was a little different to the touch. It felt sandier than the ones Clara had stocked up from the supermarket near her school.  
  
Clara gave Matty a puzzled look, but the baby merely looked back at her with smiling eyes, hiding his giggles behind his little wet fisted hands.  
  
“Is there something you’re not telling mommy, Matty?” Clara asked as she pulled away the sandy diaper cloth, and replaced it with the one she had gotten used to for Matty. “Changing your own diapers now, are we?”  
  
“Have we become a clever boy already?” Clara added, swinging Matty up from the changing mat and rubbing her nose against his tinier one, setting him off in fits of giggles.  
  
Later that night, when it was time for bed, Clara laid beside Matty, and told him the story of how Three Doctors came together and stopped Gallifrey from falling – and one of the Doctors was his daddy. Matty was especially excited to hear about this story, and whenever his daddy was mentioned, Matty seemed to cry out in delight, much to Clara’s amusement.  
  
She told him about daddy’s encounter with the two other Doctors in 1562 England, and how they had met Queen Elizabeth I, as well as an imposterous Zygon disguising itself as the Queen. She told him about daddy’s bright idea of saving his homeland Gallifrey, together with the help of the other Doctors; not just the two, but the 10 more that came along for the ride, all in the name of The Doctor to keep Gallifrey save from harm.  
  
It was probably the most exciting bedtime story Matty had heard thus far, Clara could only assumed based on his reactions to the story. He fell asleep too, with a distinguishing smile on his face, which Clara thought nothing much of, except that her baby was happy he was once again reunited with his mother, and Clara, him.  
  
The fact of the matter was, Matty had been blubbering on about his own little adventure to Clara since he heard his mommy rushing across the hallway to where he was. Since he gave out the excited cry when his mommy picked him up from his cot, he had been meaning to tell her: “Mommy, mommy. I saw daddy, mommy! I saw daddy!”  
  
Throughout the evening, Matty had been going on in his baby language of how happy he was to finally meet his daddy. (Granted, he did not say much when he was with The Doctor; one could only assume that Matty was a tad flabbergasted seeing his daddy in person, whom only until then, were mere stories to him).  
  
He told mommy about daddy’s eyes, and how they looked the same as his. He told mommy about daddy’s weird antics above him, talking to cracked walls and to himself, and even being a tad silly to not understand what Matty meant when he told The Doctor: “I can now go home to mommy – with daddy”. He told mommy about holding onto daddy’s finger, as he kept Matty safe until he fell asleep, and wake up again back home where mommy was, just as he had promised.  
  
Alas, Clara could only distinguish bubbling blubbers and crying cooes from Matty, no idea of a single word her son was telling her. After the day Clara had, she could not bother to think any more than the safety of her son, how glad she was to be her own self again – without a Zygon copy of her roaming out there, and that she was finally back with Matty in her arms.  
  
But for dear little Matty, a whole new world has opened up for him that went beyond the autumn trees outside of their apartment. He had travelled through space and time, thanks to the TARDIS, and gone to visit his daddy – his quirky and weird looking daddy, light years away from home.  
  
It gave the little boy hope, as he fell into deep sleep, dreaming of his father’s finger wagging in front of his face that he believed he was still holding onto that very night. It gave little Matty reasons to look forward to the days to come, as the next day could very well be another day for him to see daddy again.

 

*

 

The Doctor jolted from his sleep with a start, when he heard the floorboards of the stairs creak.

“What – What’s going on? What happened? What?” He blurted out in a flurry, scaring the nanny, who was making her way back up the stairs as quietly as she could muster but failed tremendously.  
  
“Oh, beg your pardon, Doctor,” The nanny called out as she took the few steps back down into the basement again. “So sorry I woke you up. I was just down to check on the baby. It had been a few hours since you called for me.”  
  
“The baby…” It took awhile for The Doctor to gather his thoughts amidst the drowsy mind he was still shaking himself off from. “The baby!”  
  
The Doctor looked towards his finger that was still pointing outwards from the arm he had extended forward across the table, where he had fixed broken toys for the village’s children, and where the baby lying in the cot with the Gallifreyan inscriptions had been. Much to his surprise, the cot was gone, and so was the baby. Wrapped around his finger was the long and winding string of a pulling horse toy, instead of the tiny fingers of the baby.  
  
The Doctor unwound the string from his finger, and started looking around the room for the baby and the cot, everywhere including under the table, just in case the cot had somehow fell over and landed on his feet.  
  
But they were nowhere in sight. The baby, together with the cot, had quite simply, vanished.  
  
“Wh-where’s the baby’s gone?” The Doctor asked the nanny.  
  
“That’s what I thought you’d know, Doctor,” the nanny replied, slightly nervous that he would put the blame of the baby’s disappearance on her. “I came down to check on the wee lad, see if he needs feeding or changing, but he wasn’t here no more.”  
  
“He just – disappeared?” The Doctor said. “He can’t have just – vanished!”  
  
“Well, to be fair, Doctor,” the nanny hesitated. “The baby did appear out of thin air in the first place…”  
  
The Doctor stopped for a moment, and considered what the nanny had just said.  
  
“You’re quite right, Mrs – uh, Mrs…” The Doctor snapped his fingers, trying to remember her name.  
  
“Mrs Amberlore, Doctor,” the nanny said.  
  
“Yes, Mrs Amberlore – you’re quite right,” The Doctor resumed. “The baby must have appeared in our town out of some faulty time travelling sequence, and now that the malfunction has been fixed, he could go home to his – mommy and daddy.”  
  
“I’d think so too, Doctor,” Mrs Amberlore nodded along, even though she could not quite understand half of the things The Doctor was muttering on about.  
  
The Doctor seemed to be off on his little trance again, deep in his folds of thoughts. So, Mrs Amberlore took it as a sign that The Doctor would like to be left alone now, and quietly creeped back up the stairs and out of the clock tower basement.  
  
She would later come to the conclusion that perhaps she had been relieved of her duties as nanny to the baby too, even though she had come to like having the baby around. It gave her something to do, and not worry about when the next time the sky would fall on their heads, like earlier today with the big red monsters with suckles all over their bodies.  
  
However, The Doctor was less than convinced that it was that simple. He could have surmised it as a mere dream, but it would be hard to think so when Mrs Amberlore, another person, was involved in this baby affair.  
  
It was definitely something new to wrack his brain about: a Time Lord baby in his old cot, who appeared out of nowhere, right in the very spot the TARDIS used to always materialise at; a baby with the same eyes as The Doctor’s; and his sudden disappearance straight after The Doctor had fallen asleep.  
  
“Interesting,” The Doctor whispered to himself, the wheels in his head already starting to turn, keeping him on his feet for the next few days to come.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stepped out into the emptied street, and saw her entire life flashed by in front of her eyes.

_November 21, 2015  
  
My Doctor,  
  
I made a mistake. A huge, unrepairable, unsurmountable mistake. And before you say it, no, not even you, or Twelve, or any other Doctors can mend it. For that, I’m sorry – I truly am.  
  
We got ourselves in quite a situation today, when an old friend of ours, Rigsy, called us and told us about this “tattoo” he got at the back of his neck. Yes, a boring tattoo, you would say too if you had seen it, or in this case, heard about it, just like how Twelve had dismissed it initially. But it’s not a tattoo at all – because tattoos don’t count down, do they? This one does.  
  
As it turned out, Rigsy had unintentionally stumbled upon an alien “trap street”, those “secret” streets or alleys you would not care to notice, unless you were really looking for it. There, Rigsy had apparently committed murder, and hence sentenced to death because of his crime. (He didn’t, if that’s what you’re wondering; it was all a big misunderstanding, as usual). The “tattoo” on his neck was a countdown to his own death, to when he would face the raven, a quantum shade, as Twelve deduced.  
  
And I, your silly little Clara, thought I could save him by having the death “transferred” to me, because I was under strict protection of Mayor Me, or Ashildr. I mentioned her before in my letters; Twelve and I met her a long while back in a Vikings village, and saved her from her own death with an immortality chip of Mire technology. (Long story, no time to explain more, I’m afraid). Only I was wrong. Because even under Mayor Me’s so-called strict protection, I could not escape death, at least not one dealt by the quantum shade.  
  
Yes, my love, I am dying – and it was all my doing. My stupid little doing.  
  
I know you’d ask me: why would I throw away my life so hastily, so carelessly? Well, for one, Doctor, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I suppose, I was hindered by emotions. Yes, silly little human Clara with her abundant emotions!  
  
You see, Rigsy is a father, and he has the most beautiful little baby girl with him. The thought of little Lucy growing up without a father, that destroyed me. And because I took Mayor Me’s words literally to heart, not bothering to know from Twelve what kind of a person she had become, after living for nearly a thousand years, even after Twelve had mentioned that immortality would change people – I put all my faith in her, and so confidently thought I could save Rigsy from his death, and keep Lucy her father.  
  
You understand why I did what I did, right? Tell me you understand, Doctor. Because I would be so disappointed in you, if you don’t. You would not be The Doctor I have come to love, if you don’t.  
  
But then again, Twelve was right. I can’t go about being as reckless as The Doctor for one and only one reason only: I am more breakable than The Doctor.  
  
This will be my last letter to you, my dear Doctor. And I’m sorry, because I won’t be able to wait forever now, for your return back to me. I know you promised you will find a way to come home to me, and I know I promised I would wait for your return. But well, promises are meant to be broken, I suppose. You have already broken two of your promises to me, and you’re probably doing the same for this one. I think I’m entitled to break one promise to you. You know, just to make us even. Heh.  
  
But please believe me when I say it’s a promise I never wanted to break. I really wish you were here now – if not to save your Clara again, “just for the hell of it”, at least be here with me, by my side, so that I know I’m not alone. I know – Twelve is here, but you are The Doctor I would have wanted by my side, if I had known this is it for me.  
  
I love you, Doctor. And I’m so sorry I have been so reckless with myself.  
  
I have to sign off now. Time is running out.  
  
But before I go, I also need to tell you something that I should’ve found a way to tell you a very long time ago. I don’t know why I kept it a secret from you, I don’t know why it’s even a secret, but here it is.  
  
We have a son, Doctor. Yes, a growing healthy baby boy named Matty. I have been taking care of him since the day you left. No, Twelve doesn’t know about it; I managed to go through my entire pregnancy with him AWOL, and continued to go time travelling with him after that, always coming home in time to see dear Matty.  
  
I’ve given this letter to Twelve, so that he could find a way to get it to you. With that, I hope you’ll find a way to get to Matty, and see him – see your son, _ our _son. My only regret is that I will not be there anymore to see my little family reunite. And I’m really, really sorry for that._  
  
Silly, isn’t it? That I would save Rigsy so Lucy doesn’t have to grow up without a father, but I would not save Matty from growing without a mother – or even a father.  
  
Stupid, stupid – STUPID ME!  
  
I hope someday, you will forgive me for this unruly mistake I’ve made.  
  
I’m so sorry, Doctor. I’m so, so sorry.  
  
Your Clara.

 

*

 

When Clara and Twelve hugged for the last time, she had quietly slipped the letter into his jacket pocket. She had looked into the old and sunken eyes, her hand softly cupping the wrinkled face of the old man, and mustered a courageous smile.

“Don’t let this change you,” Clara had told Twelve, knowing how he would react to her death.  
  
“You don’t be a warrior, promise me,” she had said to him. “Be a Doctor.”  
  
“You can’t let this turn you into a monster,” she had told him.  
  
Clara looked into Twelve’s red-rimmed eyes, and thought for a moment, she saw a flicker of her Doctor’s eyes in the irises. For a moment, those words she had given to Twelve, she believed she was telling it to her Doctor too.  
  
The raven’s caws were like the tolling bells of the final hour, as it grew closer and closer to where Clara was. She stepped out into the emptied street, and saw her entire life flashed by in front of her eyes.  
  
All her adventures with The Doctor, past and present – from the Dalek Asylum to the good Dalek; from the Ice Warrior Grand Marshal Skaldak to the Skovox Blitzer; from the Grandfather of Akhaten to the mummy on the Orient Express; from the Cybermen of Hedgewick’s World to the robot knights of Sherwood; from The Moment to this particular moment…  
  
But most importantly, she saw the important moments that had shaped her personal life recently: Eleven’s return, their heated night together, the birth of Matty… both their greenish blue eyes, father’s and son’s, so similar at this final moment to Clara, burning deep in her mind’s eyes.  
  
Clara faced the oncoming quantum shade raven and breathed deeply, “Let me be brave… Let me be brave…”

 

*

 

The Doctor brought Maximus up to the rooftop of the clock tower to see the sunrise falling over the town of Christmas that morning, when Maximus had materialised into the planet Trenzalore, a few minutes before the minutes-long sunrise. When Barnables came down to the basement to tell The Doctor Maximus had arrived, he had practically ran to meet Mrs Amberlore halfway outside of the town centre, and had drew the baby into his arms as if he had not seen him for ages.

In fact, The Doctor had come to realise that he did enjoy the baby’s company in the town called Christmas, where he had spent most of his days all on his own in the clock tower basement. The villagers noticed that The Doctor looks discernibly happier whenever the baby was around, and The Doctor felt so himself too.  
  
Without even realising it, he had come to anticipate Maximus’ re-arrival in his life when the baby was away, and had even tried to fix up a few unwanted toys for him to play with when he does return. On some days, when The Doctor felt that the baby had been away for longer than usual, he would even start to miss him.  
  
That morning, it was the morning after such considerably long duration when Maximus had showed up, and The Doctor decided to bring the baby straight up to the top of the clock tower to watch the sunrise with him.  
  
It must have been a long journey for Maximus, The Doctor thought, wherever it was that he had been coming from. The baby struggled to keep his eyes open, only to humour The Doctor and his one ray of sunlight. The baby leaned against The Doctor, and rested his tired head on the crook of the neck, not quite listening to what The Doctor was going on about the sunrise – how the entire planet was shrouded in darkness most of the time, and this sunrise that would last only a few minutes a day, had come to be something The Doctor looks forward to every morning.  
  
“Just like how I’ve come to look forward to you coming back,” The Doctor whispered to the baby, when the sunset came all too soon. He looked down at Maximus, who had curled up against The Doctor’s chest, and was already sleeping soundly.  
  
The Doctor smiled tenderly, and laid a gentle kiss on the baby’s head. He must have done so a handful of times without his conscious knowledgement, during all those times he had spent with the baby, and had grown fond of this child he had no idea of his complete origin. But that morning, when dusk washed the town of Christmas in spectacular gold, The Doctor took note of the kiss he planted on Maximus’ head, and realised that for reasons unbeknownst to him, he had came to love Maximus, more than his love for any other beings in the universe – save for Clara, of course.  
  
That morning – was already months ago, and Maximus had came to stay in The Doctor’s life in the baby’s longest term in Trenzalore yet. Every morning since the first morning, The Doctor had brought Maximus to the rooftop to watch the sunrise and thereafter the sunset. It must had been 50 sunrises and sunsets by then, but The Doctor was not really paying attention; he was just glad that whomever had sent Maximus to him had decided to give The Doctor more time to spend with the baby.  
  
Perhaps he missed being a father himself; it had been close to two millenias ago when he last had a family of his own, and when he had first gone time travelling aboard the TARDIS with his granddaughter, Susan. Or perhaps all the time travelling to save planets and civilisations and universes had suppressed the paternal instincts he had in him all along; and the sudden appearance of Maximus in his lonely life in Trenzalore had awaken them.  
  
Whatever it was, The Doctor was glad he had a new companion in his life now, if only but temporary. There were days when he would miss Clara so much that he would become rather flustered that he had not figured out a way to get back to her. Now, the days were made slightly easier with Maximus around, as he was not made hot tempered too quickly, and the days without Clara were made more bearable, giving The Doctor a kind of hope and encouragement that the day would come when he and Clara will be reunited again.  
  
“Clara would love you very much, Maximus, I’m sure of that,” The Doctor whispered to the sleeping baby as he gently brushed aside his few strands of hair on the head. “You’d most definitely love her more than me, I bet!”  
  
“Oh, I wish you could see her now,” he added with a sad smile, and sighed longingly. “I most definitely would love to see her now…”  
  
The Doctor had gone on daydreaming haphazardly, about the three of them spending time together in the town called Christmas. How they would make their rounds in the village, the baby and Clara close by The Doctor’s side, and how they would enjoy the village’s sumptuous feasts together after defeating yet another series of enemies from the skies. How The Doctor would watch as Clara tell bedtime stories to Maximus, preferably those stories of their adventures together in the TARDIS, and how The Doctor would show the baby the TARDIS, watch his face light up like his did when he first looked inside the blue box – perhaps even get the TARDIS to go on a few more adventures, just to show Maximus around.  
  
They could have been such a perfect family together, The Doctor mused at the thought of dressing Maximus up with a tiny fez on his head, as Clara rolls her eyes, trying not to smile at The Doctor’s antics.  
  
_The Doctor, Maximus and Clara,_ he thought. _My Clara…_

 

*

 

The TARDIS felt something was amiss when they materialised in Rigsy’s bedroom in the small apartment. The warning bells were going inside her head, or more so, in her matrix system of sorts, when The Doctor ran the medical analysis scan on Rigsy, and found out about his impending death. The quantum shade was no fun species to deal with, that she knew from the archive she holds.

Now, The Doctor, Clara and Rigsy had ran off, in search of this supposed “trap street”, leaving her here to – babysit little Lucy until her mother, Jenna, comes home. The TARDIS never signed up for babysitting duties when she stole away with a Time Lord to see the universe.  
  
Things went from bad to worse, when Rigsy came back to his apartment all on his own – without The Doctor and/or Clara. It dawned on her that Clara had taken Rigsy’s death upon herself, and The Doctor had been thrown straight into another trap, and would not be returning anytime soon.  
  
The TARDIS knew what had to be done next.  
  
Once again, she tracked down the vortex manipulator hidden in Matty’s cot back in Clara’s apartment. Matty had already grown fussy, with Clara being away longer than he had hoped for, longer than the TARDIS had hoped for. In fact, the TARDIS noticed that Matty’s fussy tantrums were more severe than the other times when Clara was away with The Doctor. It was as if Matty too knew something was not quite right this time around, and his mommy was in grave danger.  
  
The TARDIS should have sent Matty over to Trenzalore, where his daddy was waiting for his next arrival, as soon as she felt it in her that something was wrong. Without another moment to lose, she set the vortex manipulator in motion, and Matty began to materialise out of the planet Earth, and back to Trenzalore in the safe embrace of Doctor Daddy.  
  
The TARDIS wished there was a way to tell The Doctor, Eleven, that something had gone terribly wrong where she was. That Matty would be staying with him for a little while longer than usual this time. That The Doctor, Twelve, was caught in a fix that even she could not quite figure out from Rigsy’s bedroom.  
  
But there was one thing the TARDIS did not wish to tell Eleven, if she could help it – that Clara Oswald, _his_ Clara, was dead.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would he be hunted down like a dog and killed, or exulted for being possibly the first Human/Time Lord kind out there?

That night, Twelve retreated to the TARDIS, not knowing what to do with himself for the first time. He tinkled with the console a bit before he eventually stopped and left the TARDIS on idle in deep space, not quite sure where he should hop off to next. He settled down with his electric guitar in his arms, but no tunes came to his head that he wanted to play on the instrument. Finally, he just sat there, guitar in hand, staring off into space.

He hadn’t the time to wrap his head around the current incidents he was thrown into, until then. From the trap street with the quantum shade, to what seemed to be a torture chamber held within his confession dial, then – home, to Gallifrey. Despite having all the events still burned vividly in his mind, he felt like something was – missing.

Clara was gone.

That petite girl who was a little too short for someone her age, with her bright brown eyes, button nose, and shoulder length hair. With her preppy dresses and shirts tucked in to lengthy slacks, that brave, brave girl, who was never afraid to go the distance with The Doctor. The girl who was always patient – well, most of the time anyway, when Twelve goes on his long-winded babbles and non-sensical murmurs. The girl who always brought clarity to Twelve’s befuddled head when the going gets tough. The girl who always brought comfort to his two hearts when he needs it without telling her.

The Impossible Girl.

She was gone now, and Twelve could not even remember her existence in his life anymore, when the neuro block backfired on him.

And for the first time, in his almost 2,000 years of existence, (or if you would like to be more specific, 4.5 billions years on top of his 2,000 years of existence), Twelve did not know how to carry on with his time travelling ventures. He regenerated into the world, and Clara was there from the beginning. Now that she was gone, while Twelve had no recollection of her, he still felt like he had lost an arm.

Twelve was deep in his thoughts of nothingness, when the cloister bells of the TARDIS went off, shaking him out of his trance. The Doctor practically jumped out of his seat, and crashed himself into the control system, eager to see if the TARDIS was drawing near to any alien life forms or spaceships closeby, or if she had just suddenly gone a bit haywired and needed The Doctor’s attention.

But everything was fine, the engines were purring softly as they were still on orbit, and none of the important parts of the TARDIS had exploded in sparks, which sometimes, could mean crash landing to the nearest planet they could gravitate to. Besides that, they were all alone in deep space; no aliens or unidentified spaceships were seen for miles and miles away.

Twelve was perplexed as to the toiling of the cloister bells, until he spun the display screen to stop in front of him, and saw what the TARDIS was making a fuss about. But even then, it took Twelve a little while to figure out what the ol’ girl was showing him.

On screen were pictures upon pictures of a baby Twelve had not seen before in his life, and running down the left side of the screen were details of the baby’s vital status: his name – Matthew or Matty for short, his date of birth – September 27, 2015, (which was fairly recent, Twelve thought), place of birth – London, and above all, the status that finally got Twelve’s attention, the name of his father, (not so much his mother’s), and his species.

_Name of Mother: Clara Oswald_  
Name of Father: The Doctor  
Species: Human / Time Lord

“Oh, you naughty little – Dalek,” Twelve grumbled to himself in reference to Eleven. (It was quite obvious which ‘Doctor’ the system was referring to, of course). He was not sure if the sudden reveal of the news made him annoyed, or happy, or just – surprised. It could be all at once, which was a rather exciting new feeling for Twelve.

“How long have you known?” Twelve looked up at the console, as if speaking directly to the TARDIS. “And why didn’t you tell me sooner!”

Twelve ran his hands over his face, then raked his fingers into his greying hair and started pulling at the weakening strands. He stuck his hands into his jacket pocket, and it was only then, he felt the outline of the letter Clara had slipped into his pocket before her death on the trap street. On the envelope cover, it addressed: _To The Doctor, Trenzalore._

Of course, Twelve could never recall who this Clara is, hence not even knowing how the letter had gotten into his jacket pocket. But whoever she was, she must had been important to Eleven, and this brand new information manifesting itself to him, was like watching a new star being born in the vast galaxy that surrounds him – if only for Eleven’s sake.

But the glad tidings were immediately substituted by more worrying matters Twelve had not the answers for just yet. What would this mean to the whole universe, having a cross-species Human/Time Lord baby around? What would this mean to the human species and Twelve’s Time Lord kind? Would it be a matrimonious affliation between two species, or a bastardised abomination? If word got out that Matty was born, would he be hunted down like a dog and killed, or exulted for being possibly the first Human/Time Lord kind out there? (Well, River Song was another Human/Time Lord case, but this time around, it wasn’t because someone was infected by the time travelling DNA of a Time Lord while being conceived in the TARDIS; time time around, the Time Lord DNA was ingrated as part of the human being). If it were the latter, how much had the universe known? If it were the former, how would Twelve go about protecting him?

With those final thoughts, Twelve kick started the engines and pulled down the brakes of the TARDIS. He scrambled about the controls, working to pin down the exact coordinates of the baby’s whereabouts. The TARDIS fired up the coordinates on the screen display, and Twelve’s lips broadened into a hearty smile.

“Oh, if I could kiss you right now, you beautiful intelligent thing!” Twelve exclaimed. If the TARDIS had cheeks, she would be blushing at that statement.

Twelve set the TARDIS in motion for their next destination – Trenzalore.

Of course, the TARDIS had considered all the questions that had just gone through Twelve’s mind, and for extra precautions, had kept Matty out of detections and possible inflictions of harm. Now, the TARDIS was bringing Twelve to Eleven again, so that The Doctors could put their beautiful intelligent minds together to avert possible danger coming their way – even if it meant having to tell Eleven the bad news that Clara, mother of his son, was gone, and Twelve had not a single memory of her.

 

*

 

The Doctor was having a very nice dream in the basement of the clock tower in the town of Christmas. After watching their 60th sunrise and sunset together, The Doctor had carried Matty back down to the basement, and the baby had fallen asleep on The Doctor’s chest, as he too gradually welcomed the deep slumbers.

It had been quite a long night, especially with a special visit from the Sycorax. The species weren’t as marauding as the other species out there hanging about in space, especially when they had known that the planet Trenzalore was under the protection of The Doctor. (Which made keeping Matty safe all the easier, as long as The Doctor kept the tribe at bay in the centre of the town, and not leave any to go wandering off into the tower). They had never forgotten about their first encounter with The Doctor back on Earth many years ago, and they had took their turn to come down to the town of Christmas with much precaution.

Of course, the current Sycorax leader was a better sword fighter than the last, and The Doctor did fear if he was going to get his hand cut off again – while this time, not during his regeneration to grow out another hand. But all ended just as well as the first, without the loss of a hand, and The Doctor managed to get the tribe off the face of the planet with much ease, without them facing judgment from the Church of Papel Mainframe keeping a watch overhead.

The Doctor was drained when he retreated back, and he dreamed a nice dream of a day in the Oswald household. Clara had another fail attempt in baking a souffle, and The Doctor and Maximus were having a laugh about it, teasing Clara that perhaps a souffle isn’t a souffle, and a souffle is not only just in the recipe.

The Doctor’s mind was still filled with their laughter, when he was woken up by the faintest of sound in the still basement of the clock tower.

It was undeniable for The Doctor: the TARDIS had finally returned.

He almost kicked the box of broken toys resting by his feet and woke the baby up, as he got up in a hurry. Maximus merely stirred in a dreamy state, before settling back to his sleep. The Doctor ran into Barnables at the front steps of the clock tower, on his own way to tell The Doctor of the TARDIS’ arrival. The Doctor had Barnables run off down towards the basement – “as quietly as you can, even quieter than a church mouse,” he added – to look after Maximus while he goes off to greet Twelve and his faithful companion, Clara.

The TARDIS had settled into full materialisation in the usual square box The Doctor had kept marking up, and he was already out of breath, running all the way from the town centre, when he reached the front doors of the blue police box.

“Doctor! Clara!” He called out from outside, breathless.

It had been a little less than a month short of a year, since the TARDIS had dropped him off in the planet Trenzalore, and with that, severing any form of teleportation between Clara and him. Now that the TARDIS had returned, with Clara in tow, not to mention, The Doctor could not wait to sweep her off her feet and twirl them about until they both are dizzy with delight. He could not wait to hold her face in his hands, and kiss those lips he had missed kissing since the day he went away; and he did not care if Twelve were around to watch, fidgeting and cringing uncomfortably at a corner!

Clara – _his_ Clara – had returned, and The Doctor was not going to let her go so easily this time.

The Doctor had wanted to wait outside until Clara burst through the doors, and run straight into his open arms. But his anticipation got the most of him, and he went up to the door, gave it a few quick knocks, before pushing the door open and falling into the bigger-on-the-inside space.

However, the atmosphere inside of the TARDIS was less excited and more sombre than The Doctor had hoped for. It caused The Doctor’s enthusiasm to dwindle almost immediately upon catching sight of Twelve’s cheerless face over at the console. He had not travelled with Twelve before, and had barely spent enough time with the older Doctor, but somehow, The Doctor knew that look on Twelve’s face, as if it were his own that was looking back at him.

Seeing that Twelve’s face was his own, technically speaking, The Doctor knew something bad had happened prior to their arrival in Trenzalore, even though Twelve was not aware that he was portraying such a look to Eleven. Noting in the fact that Clara was nowhere to be seen next to Twelve, The Doctor could not help it, as he realised that something bad had happened – and it had happened to Clara.

“Wh-Where’s Clara?” The Doctor asked, part of him still not wanting to accept the obvious glaring right in front of him.

Maybe Clara had gone off for a change of clothes, and perhaps even a quick shower; they had not seen each other for close to a year, and The Doctor believed she would want to look her best when she sees him. Maybe Clara was hiding somewhere, behind one of the bookshelves Twelve had taken the time to have installed in the TARDIS, ready to pop out and surprise him when she felt she had enough of the fun and games.

The Doctor ran through so many possibilities in his head at the shortest span of time.

But somehow, none of them seemed to fit, and eventually, yet ever so hesitantly, it dawned on The Doctor that Clara was not here with Twelve.

“Where’s Clara, Doctor?” The Doctor repeated, his heartbeats already drumming in his ears, and his eyes were beginning to well up.

Twelve sighed. He closed his eyes and lowered his head.

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” The Doctor could still hear Twelve’s faintest whispers, as his entire world collapsed at those mere words. “I’m so sorry.”

 

*

 

Close to 2,000 years Twelve had lived, yet he had never felt as useless and helpless and worthless as he did right then, breaking the news to Eleven that he had no idea who Clara was, and watching him silently as the younger Doctor grows impatient and confused in front of his eyes.

Twelve didn’t explain much of what had happened, and even if he could, his latest ventures would have Clara extracted from his telling. In the end, Eleven had to delve into the TARDIS’ archive, to get out from the system what had happened to Twelve, and above all, Clara. When he saw what had happened with the raven, Eleven didn’t want to know anymore. It had all became irrelevant to him.

Twelve watched as Eleven tried so hard to suppress all the emotions in him, flashing through Eleven’s reddening face: the sorrow, the depression, the anger, and the excruciating pain. He paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. His fists gripped ever tighter and tighter, until his knuckles became almost translucent white. His strong jawline clenched and unclenched. His nostrils flaring, breathing heavily always. His eyes squeezed tight, so tight, Twelve felt that he might just disappear into thin air right there if Eleven clamped his eyes shut long enough, hard enough.

“I should’ve taken care of you,” Twelve would not remember now what he had said to Clara at the eleventh hour.

“I never asked you to,” Twelve would not remember Clara shouting back.

“You – You promised,” Eleven stammered, trying to control his anger as he spoke to Twelve. “You said – you would take care of her – no matter what.”

“I – I don’t even remember who she is!” Twelve gaped, blubbering like a fish out of water. “How can I make a promise to protect someone, if I don’t even know she exists?”

“YOU – PROMISED!” Eleven screamed. Twelve shut his eyes at the verbal onslaught, and felt guilt nailing through his two hearts.

With one swift motion, Eleven tore the lever off the console. Sparks flew as he smashed the broken part down at the control panels, again and again and again – until the inside of the TARDIS turned red, and the malfunctioning alert went off.

Twelve did not feel the urgency to go fix the TARDIS immediately, because unfolding right in front of his eyes, was The Doctor, malfunctioning drastically, in ways that even the other Doctor could never know how to fix.

Eleven must have smashed the broken lever into pieces, and damaged one part of the panel with the excessive banging. Twelve thought he saw Eleven’s knuckles bleeding, as he flung the lever to the far corner of the TARDIS, and slumped down onto the floor in a weakening heap. He gathered his knees close to his chest, buried his tearstained face in his hands – and screamed. Screamed with so much agony and grief. Screamed so hard that he could feel his lungs burst.

Twelve stood on the other side of the control room, the scream seeping into his blood veins that pumped to his two hearts. He could feel it. He could feel what Eleven was feeling right there and then. The hearts of his younger self ruptured with so much affliction, as the ones in his older self broke into millions and millions of pieces. He might not remember Clara, but he would never forget what it was like to lose someone – anyone.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It has always been our fights, our promises, our protections. Whether it was a thousand years ago, or a thousand more from now – it will always be ours.”

It must have been hours before the emotions finally settled for The Doctors. Twelve found his way next to Eleven on the steps of the bridge, and helped Eleven bandaged up his wounded hand, as the younger Doctor looked on aimlessly.

“I need to show you something,” Twelve said after a while, and gave Eleven’s shoulder a firm and reassuring squeeze. Eleven looked up from the floor, his face plastered with tears that have dried up.

Twelve walked over to the console. He fired up something onto the screen display, as Eleven too got up from the steps himself, and made his way towards where Twelve was standing hesitantly, running a hand through his face. Twelve pushed the screen towards Eleven, and the latter Doctor looked on, dazed, taking a moment longer to see what Twelve was showing him.

“How – How did you get these pictures?” Eleven asked, when it finally dawned on him who he was looking at in the images.

“It’s been in the TARDIS system for – I don’t know how long,” Twelve gave a sighing shrug. “Our ol’ girl must’ve known about this for a while. This – Clara must’ve told her – either intentionally or by accident.”

Eleven could scarcely believe what he was seeing. There was Maximus The Great, safely tucked away in Clara’s arms. There were pictures of him sleeping in another cot, pictures of him sleeping in Clara’s arms, pictures of him laughing in Clara’s arms, pictures of him leaning into Clara’s kiss. There were pictures of Clara bringing Maximus out into the autumn cold, all bundled up in layers and layers of warm clothing, pictures of Clara pointing up at the sky as Maximus looked on with astonishment, pictures of Clara holding up a maple leaf as the baby tried to grasp at it, the same kind of leaf Clara had given away to save the people of Akhaten, and with it, all her hopes and dreams.

“I don’t understand…” Eleven furrowed his brows.

“Well, from what I’ve gathered in the last few hours, Clara must have had a baby,” Twelve filled him in, as he handed Eleven the letter Clara had slipped into his jacket pocket before her death. “A few months back possibly, when I was away for the longest time, she had a baby – and frankly, I didn’t even know of his existence until – moments ago.”

“But – I do,” Eleven said, after scanning through the letter Twelve had just passed to him. “I know him. I’ve known him for months.”

“Y-You do?” Twelve questioned, his turn to be confused with the situation now. “You’ve seen this baby before?”

“Yes,” Eleven replied. “He’s been – I don’t know, one day, he just turned up out of nowhere in the cot I was in – we were in – when we were a baby. He’s just been – popping in and out of Trenzalore for a while now, but I just can’t seem to figure out where he’s from, and why he keeps coming back. Always in the same cot, always on his own.”

Eleven reached out and his fingers ran down the screen displaying a picture of Clara and the baby looking at the camera. He touched Clara’s face, and he touched Maximus’ face.

“Oh, you’ve met Clara already, haven’t you, Maximus?” Eleven whispered towards the screen.

“Maximus?”

“Your mommy – is Clara…” Eleven trailed off. “She’s been sending him to Trenzalore all this while. Everything makes sense now…”

“Everything? What do you mean?” Twelve asked. “And who is Maximus?”

“He’s Maximus – the baby,” Eleven snapped out of his thoughts, and looked at Twelve. “Or at least, that’s what he told me – Maximus The Great.”

“Maximus The Great,” Twelve chuckled.

“A-And the fact that he would always materialise into the town of Christmas at this exact spot where the TARDIS have landed, the fact that he’s been in my old cot all this time – it all makes sense now,” Eleven’s eyes brightened up. “Clara has been teleporting him – to me, all this while.”

“I mean, think about it,” Eleven continued, the buzz returning to his form, as he brought up some old log files of the TARDIS’ travels, especially the ones for Maximus, onto the screen, and started going through every take off and landing the baby had been on.

“On this day, what happened where you were?” Eleven asked, pointing at a time and date, and the location of the TARDIS that Twelve was more than familiar with.

“That was during the Zygon invasion back on Earth. I was made President of the World, but that’s not the point!” Twelve snapped the conversation back on track. “But these following dates, they don’t make sense. I don’t believe I – I mean, we – were off anywhere on the TARDIS on these series of dates.”

Eleven could recall every single date tallied with his time spent with Maximus in Trenzalore. That day was the day he made Maximus laughed out loud proper, when he pretended to be a giant and stomped through a bunch of broken toys. That day was the day when he brought Maximus out to join yet another feast with the villagers of the town called Christmas, and he had been the centre of attention, which he very much enjoyed. That day was the day he would not stop crying while The Doctor was away outside, looking for scraps to build as decent a time machine as he could muster, and leaving Maximus in the care of Mrs Amberlore; the nanny had to bring the baby out, and he would only settle down when The Doctor was in his line of sight.

Eleven too noticed something peculiar. Somehow, all the visits Maximus had made to Trenzalore, by some informed divination of sorts, he never seemed to come by unannounced when the enemies were attacking. It was always after an attack, like the first day he came, or hours or days before another hit. Clara could not have known what is happening over here to know when she could transport Maximus over.

_Unless…_

“Unless, it wasn’t Clara who had been sending the baby over,” Eleven said, and looked up at the rotund above their heads, turning languidly. “The TARDIS – she’s been sending Maximus to me.”

“Look at this last date, the teleporting took off some minutes after we landed where we were,” Twelve pointed out, then he too stared up at the turning rotunds. “Oh, girl, you knew what was going to happen, didn’t you? And you sent Matty to The Doctor…”

Twelve smiled up at the TARDIS, completely amazed of what she had been doing, utterly blew The Doctor off the ground with this surprise. After so many travels and decades with the TARDIS, Twelve could not believe this ol’ girl was still full of surprises. This Type-40 TARDIS locked up in a junkyard that The Doctor decided to steal a long, long time ago in Gallifrey – Twelve leaned down and laid a good one on the lever that got the console turning red after that.

“You beautiful, sexy, intelligent thing!” Twelve whispered gladly.

“Matty?” Eleven broke the somewhat intimate moment Twelve was having with the TARDIS. In his head, he wondered if he looked this deranged when he shows his affection towards the TARDIS, even when they were both alone.

“Yes, Matty – that’s his name,” Twelve gestured towards the screen.

“Oh,” Eleven looked a tad disappointed that Maximus The Great was not his real name. It had already stuck with The Doctor. “I’d have to started with the re-introduction again, which is a bit of a fuss, really.”

“Doctor, you do know why the TARDIS had been sending Matty over to you all this time, right?” Twelve pointed out. “Including the few times she knew something bad was going to happen to Clara, and would eventually put Matty’s life in danger – you know why the TARDIS send him over to you, of all people?”

Eleven was confused for a fragment of a second, before he turned towards the screen again, as the TARDIS pulled up Matty’s vital status she had but shown her other Doctor moments ago. Eleven’s hands gripped onto the side of the control panels, and felt his legs weakening from underneath him. With the information laid out in front of him like a clear blue sky, he did not know whether to gape in shock, fall unto the ground and cry – or smile.

So, it all came to him at once. He gaped at the screen in shock, reading the particular lines that read _“Name of Mother: Clara Oswald”_ , and _“Name of Father: The Doctor”_ , and _“Species: Human / Time Lord”_. Then, he let go of his grip on the control system, and slid down onto the ground, tears welling up in his eyes – happy tears that made him smile too.

He remember his first conversation with Maximus – or Matty, more precisely, how he had been blubbering on about his mommy and how he had started to call him “Doctor Daddy”, because Matty was and had known all along, that The Doctor was his father. When The Doctor thought that he had wanted to “go home to mommy and daddy”, he actually meant, “go home to mommy – with daddy.”

_It all makes sense now…_ Eleven thought.

How easy he had gotten along with Matty, how happy he was whenever the baby came back to the town of Christmas, and how sad he was when he returned to the cot only to see it empty again. Not to mention, how he had grown to love Matty almost naturally, and how his paternal instincts had kicked in almost like a dream even though he had not been a fatherly figure for the longest time.

“It all makes sense now…” Eleven spoke his thoughts again out loud. “He – He’s my son.”

He looked up at Twelve, who was standing next to him, looking down at his sitting form.

“Clara and I had a baby,” Eleven said with smiles and tears on his face, his two hearts overwhelmed with happiness. “Clara and I had a son.”

 

*

 

When they returned to the clock tower, they could already hear Matty crying Bloody Mary at the front steps, all the way from the basement. A flustered and worrying Mrs Amberlore was already there, bouncing Matty in her arms, hoping that it would help cease the crying.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor,” Barnables rushed up to him. “He just started crying! I don’t know what to do – I just went out to get Mrs Amberlore.”

“It’s OK, Barnables,” Eleven’s voice was soft and not at all angry, his gaze remained fixed on the red scrunched up face, wailing like the world was about to fall on his head.

“Oh, Doctor, I don’t know what to do!” Mrs Amberlore rushed up towards him. “I fed him and I’ve changed him. I sang him lullabies I used to sing to my little one, and I even got Barnables to do the whole giant walk over the toys thing –”

“Yes, I did!” Barnables popped in.

“But he just wouldn’t stop crying, Doctor!” The nanny continued, still anxious as to what happened to the baby. “Do you think he’s fallen ill, Doctor? He doesn’t seem to be running a temperature, I’ve checked.”

“It’s OK, Mrs Amberlore, I’ll take it from here,” Eleven said again, as he carried Matty into his arms. The baby latched on to The Doctor like opposite ends of the magnetic polar. He wrapped his little arms around The Doctor’s neck and cried hard into the crook of his neck.

“There, there. Shhh…” Eleven whispered into Matty’s little ear, ran a comforting hand up and down his back, and placed a forlorn kiss on the side of his head. “It’s alright. Daddy’s here… Daddy’s here…”

Barnables and Mrs Amberlore raised their eyebrows and looked at each other, perplexed. They were first wondering whom this old man The Doctor had brought back to the clock tower that late morning, but what The Doctor had just said took precedent now. However, before any questions could be asked, Eleven shooed both of them out of the basement, so that he could have some alone time with Matty – or Maximus – and this old man. The two villagers shrugged, and guessed as much that perhaps it was a family reunion for a grandfather, father and son, and went up the stairs, giving them the privacy a family needed.

“I hope they don’t think I’m _his_ grandfather, or worse,” Twelve spoke up after the two were out of earshot. “That I’m _your_ grandfather.”

Eleven merely shot Twelve a look, and continued calming Matty down, which he eventually did. Then, Eleven could finally place the baby back in the cot, when the tears had dried and he had started cooing again, asking for his mommy.

“You seem to be handling it quite – naturally,” Twelve said.

“Takes months of practice, to be honest,” Eleven chuckled, pulling Matty’s blankies up to his neck. “You should ask Mrs Amberlore how I carried him for the first time – held him like a football, that I did.”

Matty never stopped calling out to Eleven, his little fisted hands raised up above his head, grasping for The Doctor’s. Eleven looked down at Matty’s perplexed expression, sat down on the chair beside the cot, and let Matty reached up to grab hold of his forefinger, like he always would.

“I think he knows,” Eleven said to Twelve, eyes not leaving Matty, noticing a little too closely that Matty’s eyes were beginning to water again. “I think he knows what happened to Clara – that’s why he couldn’t stop crying so hard just now.”

“’I have a terrible feeling about mommy, Doctor Daddy,’” Twelve said, translating what he had heard through Matty’s wails earlier. “’Where is mommy? Where is mommy, Doctor Daddy?’”

Tears formed in Eleven’s eyes, and he closed them, feeling his two hearts breaking all over again.

“Where’s mommy, daddy? Daddy?” Matty cooed worriedly.

“You’re alright, Matty,” Eleven consoled the child in the quietest of quivers. “You’re safe now. Daddy’s here…”

 

*

 

Later that night, Eleven and Twelve found themselves sitting at the front steps of the clock tower, watching the village bustling about with their daily routines, and getting ready for dinner with their loved ones at home. They managed to get themselves away from the basement, when Mrs Amberlore dropped by again after the occurance earlier that day, to help Matty with the feeding and changing.

Light snow had began falling again in the town of Christmas, and some of the children were reluctant to head home and help on dinner, wanting to stay out a little longer with their friends, throwing snowballs about and making snow angels on the ground.

Eleven somehow found particular interest towards the mothers, who had gone up to the little ones, and managed to tear them away from their friends, coaxing them to come home before dinner gets cold, their children dragging their feet all the way home. He could only imagine how Clara would act in motherly situations like this; she would probably have to drag The Doctor and Matty back home, because he had a feeling he would be acting very much like a child himself, getting in a snowball fight. Or they would probably just postpone dinner altogether, and lay on the ground making snow angels, competiting to see whose angels were the most perfect ones.

Eleven had always known Clara was good with children; she was a governess, after all, when they first met in Victorian London. Not to mention, taking care of the Maitland “Daleks”, as Eleven liked to call them, after their mother passed away; looking after Merry Gejelh, the young Queen of Years from Akhaten; teaching her students over at Coal Hill Secondary School; and Eleven was fairly certain as well that she had been everything Matty asks for in a mother – he was just bummed that he never got to see her with their son, only flashes of images stored in the TARDIS’ archive.

“So, what are you going to do now?” Twelve broke the ice, pulling Eleven out of his deep thoughts that were slowly showing its sorrow on his creased forehead.

Eleven just heaved a heavy sigh, and shrugged.

“I don’t know – take care of Matty, I suppose, like I’ve been doing on and off,” he said, picking at a tear on his pants haphazardly. “I’ve got Mrs Amberlore here to help me out with the otherwise maternal duties. Barnables isn’t such a bad big brother to Matty either.”

“You’re not seriously thinking of staying on here, now that you have Matty with you?” Twelve asked. Eleven caught his gaze, perplexed. “I mean, you’ve got a baby with you now. It’s not exactly safe keeping him here, when enemies are coming down on you like unpredictable storms.”

“Well, I can’t exactly bail on these people too, can I?” Eleven interjected, gesturing towards the people all about them. “I made a promise to them that I would stay put, and sort out all these – storms – that are coming their way.”

“It’s my fault that there’s a crack on the wall down there in the basement right now. It’s my fault that the Time Lords are waiting on the other side, waiting to come through,” he added. “It’s my fault that the enemies are hovering over our heads, preparing for their next attack. I can’t just abandon them now because I’ve got a baby around – I promised.”

“But you can’t exactly stick around either, now that you’ve got a baby,” Twelve said. “The least you can do now is to keep Matty safe, and get as far away from Trenzalore as possible.”

“And go where exactly – eh?” Eleven got up from the steps and started pacing back and forth in front of Twelve. “I have nothing outside of this planet anymore – nothing! At least I know I’m being useful here.”

“What makes you think you’re not useful anywhere else – with Matty?” Twelve argued. “You’re a father now, Doctor. You can’t exactly be – patting Matty to sleep with one hand, and another holding back an army of Daleks.”

“So what – you’re suggesting I pack up and leave with Matty, and leave these people to their own demise?” Eleven sat back down beside Twelve with a huff, and cradled his aching head with the tip of his fingers.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Twelve held out both his arms, as if revealing to Eleven the obvious.

“That’s your plan? Seriously, that’s your –” Eleven questioned. “You can’t do that. You’d be rewriting time!”

“Oh, come on, Doctor!” Twelve quipped. “We’ve been rewriting time since the TARDIS merged our versions of her from different time and space together. You’re living on a time stream now with two Doctors at the same time, might as well make the most of it!”

“I mean, you took advantage of the time when _three_ of us were around,” he continued. “Or should I say, more specifically, _13_ of us!”

“That’s because we were saving Gallifrey, not because I need help in changing a baby’s diaper,” Eleven retorted. “It was nothing personal. It was to save our home planet.”

“Yeah, it has nothing to do with stopping us from becoming a bitter and regretful old man after that – not at all!” Twelve murmured.

“That’s not the point –”

“Look, you know as much as I do that Matty is not safe here,” Twelve interrupted. “In fact, this is the last place in the entire universe for Matty to feel the least bit safe.”

Eleven pursed his lips. Once again, he found himself torn between liking the idea of having another ‘him’ to talk to, and actually loathing the idea.

“Tell me that you haven’t been considering how to get out of this, without seeming like you’re abandoning your Doctor duties to protect this town,” Twelve said. “Tell me that you’ve wished at least once during the one year you’re here, that I would come back and maybe – just maybe – help you out with this mess you’ve worked yourself into?”

Eleven sighed. Oh, how he hated it when Twelve is right.

“Well, here I am now, offering to take over,” Twelve said, standing up and facing him, his arms still outstretched. “So that you can leave Trenzalore without feeling guilty about it, and actually be a good father to your son.”

“But it’s not your time!” Eleven’s voice rose, as he stood up again, and faced Twelve on the same level. “ _This_ is not your fight. _This_ is not your promise. _This_ is not under your protection. It’s _mine_ , because frankly, right now – right this moment, _you_ haven’t even regenerated yet. _You_ don’t even exist!”

“Yet, here I am, standing right in front of you,” Twelve replied. “Time is being rewritten, as we speak, Doctor. It’s not just your time anymore – it’s _ours_. I don’t mean to ‘steal your thunder’ or anything, but it has always been _ours_ , Doctor. It has always been _our_ fights, _our_ promises, _our_ protections. Whether it was a thousand years ago, or a thousand more from now – it will always be _ours_.”

“We are all the same person, Doctor,” Twelve added. “This battle right here in Trenzalore, it’s not just yours – it’s _ours_. The Doctors that were, and The Doctors that will be – and that includes me.”

_Gosh, my future self really knows how to pull the heartstrings, doesn’t he?_ Eleven thought, feeling rather moved by Twelve’s speech right there. Then again, it had been an emotional day, finding out about Clara, finding out about Matty, finding out that he was a dad. So, it was not really a surprise when Eleven found himself on the brink of tears, listening to Twelve’s speech and his selflessness and undertaking this task at hand.

“But I can’t – I promised – I –” Eleven made one last feeble attempt to resist, but already, he was out of reasons and words.

“But you know what’s truly yours?” Twelve ignored Eleven’s stammering babbles, as he took a step to shorten the gap between them and pointed a finger on the younger Doctor’s chest. “Matty.”

“He is yours, and yours alone,” the older Doctor added. “And he’s what’s left of the girl you love. If you’re not protecting him, and fulfilling promises on him, nobody else will – none of the other Doctors will, or can.”

With that, Eleven broke down, and Twelve gathered his younger self into his arms, despite in a rather awkward manner.

“I don’t know if this – Clara had ever told you, but I’m not really a hugging type of person anymore,” Twelve started to explain, but upon hearing Eleven still heaving with tears on his chest, he laid a stiff but yet comforting pat on Eleven’s shoulder. “But we’ll make this time the exception. Just – don’t tell anyone.”

Eleven was still recovering from his vulnerable state, when suddenly screams broke out from the different households across the town of Christmas. They both snapped out of the moment they were in, and were already on high alert, bodies tensed with sonic screwdriver – and sonic sunglasses – at the ready. Eleven was about to make a sarcastic comment on Twelve’s new form of a sonic device, when they saw Barnables came running from his house not far from the clock tower.

“Cybermats, Doctor! Cybermats!” The young boy was already screaming from down the street, even before he got to The Doctors. “Everywhere! Every house! The Cybermen are coming!”

The Doctors could hear commotions coming from all the houses across the village. Potteries breaking, brooms whacking, women and children screaming, as the population slowly trickled out on to the streets, keeping away from the Cybermats.

“Doctor, I think that’s your cue to go now,” Twelve said, as he started to make towards the centre of the hubbub.

“What – I can’t just leave now!” Eleven yelled out. “You’d need all the help you can get when the Cybermen arrive!”

“I meant to go check on Matty!” Twelve shouted back, already halfway down the street, stopping Barnables on his way, and turning the boy around to go back.

Just then, a scream rang out from inside the clock tower. It was Mrs Amberlore, and she was already causing a fuss about in the basement, as Matty launched into a heartfelt cry.

Eleven practically flew down the steps into the basement, and fury almost blurred his vision when he saw a Cybermat crawling into the cot where Matty laid screaming. The alien machine could already be feeding off the baby’s brain waves, slowly killing him.

“IT HURTS, DADDY! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!” Eleven heard Matty shrieking out.

The Doctor jumped towards the cot and in one swift motion, grabbed the Cybermat away from Matty, and hurled it against the wall. The crash was not powerful enough to damage the machine, and it was still writhing about on the ground, trying to get its bearings right before attacking again. But Eleven would have none of it. He stomped on the machine over and over again, until the Cybermat was flying in pieces all over the place, and eventually, stopped functioning altogether.

Eleven went back to Matty’s side straight after, picked the wailing baby out of his cot, and laid the baby close against his chest.

“It’s alright, Matty, Daddy’s here now. It’s alright, it’s alright…” Eleven whispered against Matty’s head, burning with fear.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor,” Mrs Amberlore got up from the floor she had fallen down on near the steps. “It just came out of nowhere. I was tidying up the toys in the box and – and it just – jumped straight at me! Then, it – it – went for Maximus – I-I I’m so sorry, Doctor!”

“It’s alright, Mrs Amberlore. Just – calm down,” Eleven went over to the shakened woman. “Just – hide out here for a while, alright? You’ll be safe here.”

“I want to go home, daddy! I want to go home!” Matty was crying anxiously into Eleven’s chest. “I want to go home to mommy! Where’s mommy? Where’s mommy!”

Twelve was right. Eleven could not take care of Matty, while defending an entire planet at the same time. A Cybermat almost killed Matty! Eleven shuddered to think what would have happened if he had been but a few seconds late.

“Stay here, Mrs Amberlore,” Eleven told the nanny, who was now all curled up into a ball under the stairway. “I have to bring Matty to safety. I have to get him out of here.”

“But, Doctor,” Mrs Amberlore called out. “What about us? What about our town?”

Eleven knelt down in front of her, and placed a firm hand on Mrs Amberlore’s shoulder.

“The other Doctor will take care of you all now,” he said, looking reassuringly into her eyes. “And if I do say so myself – he is a far better Doctor than I’ll ever be.”

Mrs Amberlore whimpered at the sudden farewell they were faced with. She grabbed hold of The Doctor’s hand on her shoulder, and kissed it deep and affectionately.

“You’ve already been a far greater Doctor than Christmas had ever expected of you,” she told him, tearfully.

Mrs Amberlore kissed the back of Matty’s head, and then Eleven’s cheek.

“You take care of your darling boy now, alright?” She said in between tears. “You have to learn how to feed him and change him now – every two hours, Doctor. Don’t forget – every two hours.”

Eleven squeezed Mrs Amberlore’s hand, and gave her a heartened smile. He then tightened his hold on Matty, and sprinted up the stairs, two and three steps at a time.

It was havoc all about the town of Christmas. Trees were already alight in furious flames, and the unbearable heat was melting away the snow angels on the ground. Children were not laughing anymore; they were running about screaming and crying. There would be no heartwarming dinners tonight in the households of Christmas; they had all been destroyed by this sudden alien attack. At the other far end of town, Eleven could hear the unmistakable mechanical march of the Cybermen, their helmets shining in ghastly gold reflected from the burning trees and houses about them.

Eleven’s hearts stirred. How could he possibly leave these people now? The people he had come to call family after being with them and protecting them for close to a year – how could he just up and leave them now?

As if sensing Eleven’s need for affirmation and courage, Twelve appeared out of nowhere, and stuck something inside of Eleven’s tweed jacket pocket.

“Take this with you,” Twelve said without explaining what “this” was. Eleven barely had the time too to ask, as he could feel Matty’s tiny fingers gripping tightly on The Doctor’s jacket lapels. “It may come in handy in the future in case you decided to use it.”

“You know where the TARDIS landed. I’ve sent a signal to her. She should be on ready flight mode once you get in,” Twelve said. “Now, go! I’ll keep them distracted – go! I’ll take care of these people now!”

Eleven had run five steps the other way from where Twelve was running to, when the younger Doctor turned around and yelled: “Thank you, Doctor!”

“Goodbye, Doctor!” Twelve gritted a smile, and put on his sonic sunglasses.

“You looked ridiculous with those, by the way!” Eleven managed to blurt out before turning back around, ignoring Twelve’s stutters for a smart remark, and ran as fast as he could with a baby in his arms towards the TARDIS.

The TARDIS was already sounding the cloister bells when Eleven approached, alerting The Doctor on the gravity of the situation, and that they should take off from this place as soon as possible.

“Right, off we pop now, ol’ girl!” Eleven announced when the door slammed shut behind him, and the commotion in town had become but mere memories of another time – the screams, the hacking and the burning.

“I don’t care where we go, just get us out of here now,” he told the TARDIS. “Stay out of sight from the other spaceships keeping watch in orbit, especially the Church of Papel Mainframe – wouldn’t she like to know what we have on board the TARDIS right now.”

Eleven was partially referring to himself, The Doctor that had been standing in everyone’s way from destroying the town and shielding off the only portal the Time Lords could come through. All hell would break loose if any of the spaceships waiting in orbit right now knew The Doctor was leaving.

At the same time, Eleven was referring to Matty as well. He could not imagine what the enemies would do to him or Matty, if they were to find out this Doctor in particular has born a son. He could probably guess what the Mother Superious Tasha Lem would do, but he would rather not let that come into fruition.

So, amidst the chaos that befell on the town of Christmas that night, the TARDIS materialised out of the planet Trenzalore – out of sight and out of radar, undetected and unknown by anyone other than Twelve and perhaps Mrs Amberlore.

It was a turbulent take off, and Matty could not stop crying in Eleven’s arms. The Doctor could only hold him close to his chest, as they huddled under the control panels, his legs drawn up and pressing against the back of Matty’s small form.

“This will all be over soon,” Eleven squeezed his eyes shut, and whispered to Matty over and over again. “Daddy’s here, Matty. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Because you’re his Impossible Girl, mum, and nothing is impossible for him when it’s about you.”

“Please, I don’t know where I am… I don’t even know who I am…”  
  
Clara realised the words that were coming out of her mouth repetitively, when she came into consciousness. She opened her eyes and lifted her head towards the old familiar nightmare surrounding her. She did not know how she got here again, and she did not know why a part of her history is repeating itself now.  
  
How long had it been since she last came to this place, Clara had lost count. She had died a little over 4.5 billion years ago, after the events in Trenzalore, in the hands of the quantum shade. Yet, Twelve managed to freeze her in between heartbeats, so that she may live once again, travelling through the universe the long way round, before going back to Gallifrey, and surrendering herself to the much long awaited death.  
  
It must have been another 4.5 billion years after that, Clara was not sure. But yesterday, Ashildr and Clara finally returned back to Gallifrey, and Clara faced the raven once again, this time, allowing her last breath to be exhaled, and her life extracted from her being.  
  
Then, the next thing she knew, here she was again caught in a time of nothingness, a time that was not even hers, but The Doctor’s.  
  
Clara was back inside of The Doctor’s time stream, the one in which she had collapsed into after saving all 11 versions of The Doctor from The Great Intelligence, the one in which The Doctor had risked collapsing in on itself by coming in himself to save her.  
  
Clara got up on her feet, and looked around the foggy mist, around this nameless destination. She called out to The Doctor, like she had once done. Only this time, the fear was more certain than the last time that The Doctor might not be around again to save her. This time, The Doctor – _her_ Doctor – did not even know what had happened to her, and he most definitely did not know that Clara had fallen back into history, to know to come back to this precise time and place to save her.  
  
It really felt like the end now, and Clara Oswald was finally proper scared.  
  
“Clara.”  
  
She gasped. She felt her heart sink when she heard her name called from behind. Perhaps things weren’t ending like she thought it would, after all. The Doctor was here. The Doctor had come to save her. She did not know how – maybe the TARDIS helped, but she was just glad her Doctor had come.  
  
She turned around, and was confused to see who was standing behind her.  
  
It was not The Doctor, but a young man, probably close to his early 20s. Yet, he had the same kind eyes The Doctor had. The same greenish blue eyes. The same eyes that elude such kindness and concern towards Clara, as he kept his gaze fixed on her.  
  
Clara was fairly certain he was not a ghost from The Doctor’s past. She had visited his entire time stream, and had met all his faces, including the one he did not want to talk about – the one he left behind at the Time War.  
  
But this face, this face was new. He was someone else, even potentially dangerous to Clara. Her heart picked up speed, and she stumbled backwards, away from the young man.  
  
“Clara, please don’t be afraid of me,” the young man said, holding out his hand, as if to stop her from running away from him.  
  
“Who are you?” Clara asked, the fear coming back to her like a tidal wave. “You’re not The Doctor. I’ve seen all of his faces. So, who are you?”  
  
“No, I’m not The Doctor,” the young man said. “But times are changing, Clara.”  
  
“Wh-What do you mean?” She stammered, not quite sure just yet how much she should trust this person.  
  
“I’m from The Doctor’s future, and his future is being rewritten, as we speak,” the young man attempted to explain. “And I have to get you out of here before you’re being rewritten over – and deleted.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me exactly what’s going on!” Clara was growing impatient and rather delirious now. “Who are you, and how did you even get into The Doctor’s time stream? What have you done to The Doctor?”  
  
“He’s safe, Clara,” the young man tried a convincing smile, but it sort of fell flat. “You know The Doctor can’t enter his own time stream – at least not again. It would kill him.”  
  
“So, what – he sent his _companion_ to come get me out?” Things were getting more and more ridiculous for Clara, and she was more than ready to run away from him. She did not know where she was, and she was not sure where else she could run off to, but as long as she was well away from this stranger, it was a start.  
  
“Not exactly,” the young man smiled, and Clara thought he saw a flicker of an image of The Doctor flashed across his face. Her breath caught in her throat.  
  
_It’s not possible…_ she thought.  
  
The young man reached into his jacket pocket, (even his tweed jacket resembled the one The Doctor used to wear, Clara noticed), and pulled out an autumn maple leaf.  
  
“You told me once it’s not a leaf,” the young man said. “You told me it’s my page one.”  
  
Tears sprung into Clara’s eyes.  
  
_It’s just not possible…_ she thought, heartwrenched.  
  
“You said that one day, The Doctor is going to blow his way back into our lives, like this leaf,” he continued, holding up the leaf. “Or we are going to blow our way back to him.”  
  
“M-Matty?” Clara gasped.  
  
The young man smiled, as his eyes too become to shine with tears.  
  
“Right now, I’ve blown my way in here to save you, mum,” he said. “I’m here to get you out, so that we can blow our way back into daddy’s life.”  
  
“But how – how did you even know where to find me? How did you even manage to get into The Doctor’s time stream?” Clara managed to ask. She could feel her entire body slowly succumbing to the realisation that the young man was her son. She could feel herself drawing closer and closer to him.  
  
“I told you, mum,” Matty replied with a hearty smile. “I’m from The Doctor’s future.”  
  
Matty held out his hand towards Clara, and took a steady breath.  
  
“Please trust me now, as you once did The Doctor,” he said. “We have to leave immediately before any more of his time is being rewritten.”  
  
Clara wobbled her way towards Matty, and hesitantly, placed her little hand in his. Even his roughened hand felt like his father’s. Haphazardly, she reached out and touched his face. Her eyes observed ever more meticulously the shape of his face, the crinkles near his eyes – everything was an echo of The Doctor, _her_ Doctor.  
  
“Matty,” she whispered. “You’re all grown up.”  
  
“I am, mum,” Matty smiled, and tightened Clara’s hand in his. “And I came from The Doctor’s future, so that’s saying something.”  
  
“Will you – will you really get me back to The Doctor?” she asked tearfully, still not quite believing that this was possible, that she would get to The Doctor so easily. “Will you really get me home – to him?”  
  
Matty saw his mother teetering on the edge of hope, and felt his heart broke.  
  
“I’ve been sent me here to do just that,” he said. “Because you’re his Impossible Girl, mum, and nothing is impossible for him when it’s about you.”  
  
“Us and our impossibilities…” she murmured with a smile.  
  
“Exactly,” Matty winked, and wrapped Clara’s hand around the stem of the leaf – his first page.  
  
“Now, listen to me very carefully, mum,” his tone changed into a more serious one. “I don’t know how much dad’s time stream has changed at this point, and how it would affect where you’ll end up when we leave this moment. But whatever you do, hold on tight to this leaf, and it will get you to where dad is – wherever, whenever and however it is for him right at this moment.”  
  
“But what about you?” Clara panicked. “Aren’t you coming with me?”  
  
“I can’t, mum,” Matty shook his head and pursed his lips sadly. “Right now, I’m crying in daddy’s arms, and we’re crashing in hyperspeed into Earth on the TARDIS. If I were to come with you now, it would create a paradox in The Doctor’s life, and it would be as damaging as him stepping into his own time stream.”  
  
“I can set you off on the right course,” he added. “But I can’t come with you – not yet.”  
  
“But will I see you again?” Clara’s hands tightened around Matty’s wrists, suddenly not keen on leaving her son behind.  
  
“Like I said, mum,” Matty twisted his wrists until he was holding Clara’s hands again. “I’m from The Doctor’s future. As long as you get back together with dad, you _will_ see me again.”  
  
He pulled Clara in for a tight hug, and placed a kiss on top of her head, just like his mother used to.  
  
“I’ll see you soon, mum,” Matty whispered, stepping away from Clara ever so carefully. “All my love to dad.”  
  
Before she could say anything more to Matty, a quick beam of light engulfed Clara and blinded her. Her hands came to shield her eyes from the jarring light, still gripping onto the leaf tightly. Seconds seemed to lengthen into minutes, and minutes into hours.  
  
Suddenly, Clara felt her grasp losing upon the leaf, even though she dared not move her fingers or her hands. She squinted her eyes open against the light, and saw the leaf slowly but surely disintegrating into the whiteness around her.  
  
Something was happening, and Clara was not sure if it was supposed to happen.  
  
She clamped her eyes shut tightly.  
  
She screamed.

 

*

 

Calm fell inside of the TARDIS, when she managed to steal her Time Lord away once again, but this time, away from impending danger. She threw The Doctor and his son into the vast and infinite beyond, and did not stop until she was certain they were finally safe. Only then, she slowed herself down, and let the blue box drift against the unseen currents of space.

When the TARDIS had stopped bumping and tumbling about, The Doctor re-emerged from under the control panels with Matty still clutched safely in his arms. The baby felt the halcyon spread all around him, and he gradually stopped crying, knowing in his heart that the worst was over.  
  
The Doctor straightened himself, and adjusted Matty on his hip. He pulled the screen display in front of them, and tried to work out where the TARDIS had stopped. He could not quite make out the coordinates, things were still a bit blur in his mind to get the calculations going, but all he knew was that they were now far, far away from Trenzalore – and Matty was safe.  
  
“TARDIS, activate voice interface please,” The Doctor said, and a hologram flickered to life a few steps away from him. There were statics at first, before the avatar took form and become Twelve, which was just about apt at this moment for The Doctor, being the selected image of the person he held esteem.  
  
“The TARDIS voice interface – activated,” Twelve’s hologram said. It could very much be Twelve himself speaking to The Doctor now, right down to his Scottish accent.  
  
“Initiate medical analysis scan on Matty,” The Doctor said.  
  
“Medical analysis scan – initiated,” Twelve replied, and paused for a good moment, before continuing: “Matthew Oswald – slight shock due to the recent events we have just fled from, and may be suffering from physical nausea. Otherwise, vital status all returning to normal, and may be in need of substance of the mammary glands in – 30 minutes.”  
  
“Oh, shucks,” The Doctor exasperated. “I don’t suppose we have any lying around in the TARDIS?”  
  
“I’m afraid not, Doctor,” Twelve replied. “We may set course for – Clara’s apartment – Earth – within 30 minutes, where possible storage of said substance may be available for our disposal.”  
  
“You think you can last another 30 minutes there, big guy?” The Doctor asked Matty, who merely ignored him, and took in with his bright eyes the splendour of the TARDIS’ interior.  
  
Matty gave a toothy smile, and pointed towards the glowing console in the centre of the room: “Dah!”  
  
“Thank you – Matthew Oswald,” Twelve said, with a smile. “I’m quite proud of the remodelling myself. Although the 10th did not agree to it, but then again, I’m meant to cater to the current Doctor I transport, and the 11th Doctor was quite happy with it during his time. So was the 12th.”  
  
“It was Daddy’s idea to have the Gallifreyan inscriptions on the rotund,” The Doctor whispered to Matty, as he looked up at the ceiling, as if trying to make sense of the olden language. “What do you think? Cool, huh?”  
  
“Yah!” Matty answered, which as you can guess, meant, “Yes, very much so cool!”  
  
“That’s m’boy!” The Doctor chuckled, and kissed Matty’s cheek.  
  
“Now, did The Doctor – the other one – leave me any – messages of sorts?” The Doctor questioned the TARDIS voice interface. “We left in such a hurry, he didn’t really explain anything to me after I’ve – escaped.”  
  
He delved into the jacket pocket, and pulled out the device Twelve had stuck into just before he ran off again to defend the town of Christmas from the attacking Cybermen. The Doctor had felt the silhouette of the device when he traced his fingers inside the pocket, and had already a faint idea what it was. Now that he was holding it out in front of him, he was fairly certain that he had seen it before – the Gallifreyan engraving on the obverse, and on the back case, a solar system – and he had definitely used it before, most recently during his hideout from The Family of Blood in 1913 England, to stop the aliens from leeching off his Time Lord essence and immortality to prolong their kind.  
  
Right then, The Doctor was not quite sure why Twelve had passed the fob watch to him. Did they need to go undercover? Were they at risk from exposure? If so, who were after them?  
  
“Hello, Doctor,” the holographic avatar of Twelve greeted The Doctor, signalling the beginning of transmission of the message the older Doctor had recorded for him, prior to the TARDIS’ landing in Trenzalore. “I’m guessing by now you’re wondering why I have given you the Chameleon Arch fob watch.”  
  
“The reason, Doctor,” he continued. “Lies solely in the entire being of the person you are now holding in your arms.”  
  
“Matty?” The Doctor was perplexed, as he looked towards Matty, who had now turned his attention to the holographic avatar, not quite understanding the kind of technology that was happening right in front of his young eyes right then.  
  
“Think about it, Doctor,” Twelve said. “Matty is born part-human, part-Time Lord, something that has never happened before.”  
  
“The closest we have ever gotten to such a hybridisation was during the Human-Time Lord Meta-Crisis of your former self, and your former companion, Donna Noble,” Twelve flickered off, and snippets of that day’s event was projected where the avatar had stood. “And we both know how that turned out.”  
  
The TARDIS showed snippets from her memory bank: The time when the Daleks empire had stolen 27 planets from different solar systems, to power a “reality bomb” that would destroy an entire universe, and with it, reality; the time when The Doctor – back then, still in the embodiment of the 10th regeneration – and his comrades were held hostage in the Dalek flagship, The Crucible, where he had come face-to-face once again with his oldest enemy, Davros, the creator of the Daleks; the time when The Doctor had transferred the rest of his regeneration into his severed hand, and in light of the danger surrounding him, had fashioned another Doctor by osmosis, using the closest DNA pattern he could find, which was Donna’s, and in return, caused the meta-crisis to happen to her as well; the time when The Doctor had to banish the “second” Doctor to an alternate universe because he had committed genocide on the entire Dalek population; lastly, the time when The Doctor had to wipe Donna clear of all her memories that had anything to do with him, the TARDIS and extraterrestiality, as a human mind could not contain the density of a Time Lord’s.  
  
When the projection ended, the holographic avatar of Twelve reappeared.  
  
“But that was a meta-crisis,” The Doctor argued. “The meta-crisis Doctor came into being because of a regeneration backlash; Matty came into this world through – good ol’ natural reproduction – _schemes_. Matty is hardly a meta-crisis.”  
  
“No, he’s not,” Twelve replied calmly. “A Human-Time Lord meta-crisis never existed because it can never exist. But this is the first time a Human-Time Lord hybrid is born, and unlike a meta-crisis, he can actually thrive. However, it doesn’t mean Matty is any safer than a meta-crisis.”  
  
“Matty is a human,” The Doctor said. “He has one heart, and a mind that’s not overflowed with a Time Lord’s conscious. He’s not about to burn up just because his father is a Time Lord.”  
  
“No, he will not, but that doesn’t mean someone else will not try to – burn him up,” Twelve answered, still sounding calm. “If you care to remember also the last hybrid that came close to the Human/Time Lord kind, thanks to your companions, Amy Pond and Rory. That didn’t end well too, did it?”  
  
The Doctor pressed his fingers into the sides of his throbbing forehead, and shook his head slowly.  
  
“This is absurd,” he muttered.  
  
“This hybridisation has never happened before,” Twelve went on. “We don’t know what are the consequences.”  
  
“What will become of the species of human and Time Lord when they know about Matty?” Twelve asked. “Will he be deemed an abomination, or exulted like a God? We are talking about the combination of two different species from two different polar ends of their kinds – where will he fit in, with the humans, or with the Time Lords?”  
  
“And if word goes out to other alien life forms that a proper Human/Time Lord is born, what will they make of it?” Twelve continued.  
  
“The dormant species might find a cause for celebration. The intelligent species might find him interesting, and might get him in for tests. What about the predatory species? Your enemies, Doctor. The Cybermen, the Daleks, the Zygons, the Whisper Men – the Silence, again… Do you think they’ll allow Matty grow up like a normal human child, and not find ways to kill him, in case he holds a secret key to the becoming of a whole new species – a better species – of the Time Lords, or of the humans? Or worse – what if they use him against you, again?”  
  
The Doctor pressed Matty’s small body closer to his chest, and sighed.  
  
“You’re overthinking things,” The Doctor said to the hologram, and ultimately, to Twelve. “He was born into a human life. He has been taken care of by a human, in a human-populated planet. I mean, look at him – does any part of him look Time Lord to you, or even murderous – like Melody Pond?”  
  
“Doctor, you know as well as I do that Time Lord manifestations don’t happen until they are eight years and above,” Twelve still answered with that monotonous voice, which was starting to irritate The Doctor. “What happens when he had an early regeneration when he was say, 10, right in the middle of a human-crowded school – and you’re not around to hide him from everyone?”  
  
The Doctor gazed into Matty’s eyes as the baby looked back at him. He had his father’s eyes, and the resemblance was beginning to frighten The Doctor. He started to wonder if what the holographic Twelve said could be true, that Matty’s Time Lord trades were to manifest themselves when he comes of age.  
  
“Then, what do you propose then?” The Doctor glared back at the holographic avatar. “Get rid of Matty? Banish him to an alternate universe, where we here don’t need to deal with what could happen to him, even though everything is just guesstimations right now? Kill him ourselves?”  
  
Twelve pursed his lips. The TARDIS was having a slight delay in extracting more extensions of Twelve’s message from her archive.  
  
“He’s – Matty’s my son,” The Doctor said, his voice quivering from the tears forming in his eyes. “That’s it. I’m not asking him to be hunted down or – or even worshipped on a high pedestal. I just – I just want him to be my son, that’s all. That’s all.”  
  
“That is all still possible,” Twelve answered gently, his eyes flickered down towards the fob watch The Doctor was still holding in his hand.  
  
“How does wiping my Time Lord conscious make Matty safe from whatever you have just mentioned before?” The Doctor asked, clearly not quite agreeable to the idea of his biology being rewritten so that he could disguise better as a human.  
  
“Hiding him in the presence of a supposed human is a start,” Twelve said. “Your disguise will throw off most detections. You are of pure Time Lord kind, and if that element is taken out, they would be less likely to find the hybrid attached to you.”  
  
“There really is no better time for you to disappear from the Time Lord grid, and start afresh – and doing that as a human isn’t that bad a thing. You’ve always loved them,” Twelve continued. “The Doctor’s time stream has started to rewrite itself, since you hand over your duties in Trenzalore to me, and left. In a way, you have sort of – thrown yourself out of the timeline, and deem yourself – well, for a lack of a better word – worthless.”  
  
“Thanks,” The Doctor rolled his eyes at the hologram.  
  
“But only to the Time Lords and everything that gravitates around the species,” Twelve rushed to say. “You are far from worthless to your son there. You still have much to do for him, with him. Right now, he needs you more than anyone else in the universe.”  
  
The Doctor looked back down at his son, and Matty met his eyes with a wet fist in his smiling mouth.  
  
Twelve was right – again.  
  
“The Chameleon Arch,” The Doctor said, holding up the fob watch to see the Gallifreyan engraving shine under the light. “I will forget about Matty. Then, wouldn’t the plan be sort of – irrelevant in the end?”  
  
“The TARDIS and I have taken specific consideration already for after your initiation,” Twelve said. “Everything is settled. All you have to do, is wake up into a brand new life as a full-fledge human – or at least, one in disguise – and you’re good to go, and Matty will be with you all the way.”  
  
“Right…” The Doctor said, still not quite sure if this plan would work.  
  
“We’re running out of time,” Twelve said, already lowering the Chameleon Arch device to a height optimum to The Doctor’s. “Matty’s 30 minutes are almost up, and he will soon be asking for substance of the mammary glands. We have to head to Earth immediately.”  
  
“Well – Right then,” The Doctor exhaled audibly. He looked around the control room, to see where he could settle Matty down, as he went through the Chameleon Arch process. He should really consider some chairs, or perhaps even a baby holding station of sorts.  
  
At last, The Doctor had to settle with leaving Matty on the ground, next to the holographic avatar of Twelve. It wasn’t exactly the best idea, seeing that the TARDIS might just head into some turbulent storm clouds and throw Matty off the bridge. But the hologram assured The Doctor that Matty was in good hands, while he could not provide his own.  
  
“Right, Matty – Maximus The Great,” The Doctor said, and the mention of Matty’s secret nickname made him smile all the wider. “Just – hang on tight over here for a bit, alright? Daddy’s got some – humany wumany issues to deal with. I’ll be right back.”  
  
Matty watched with his knitted eyebrows in confusion, as The Doctor Daddy walked away from him, the first time since he had been clinging onto him, when they were in the basement of the clock tower, in the town of Christmas, on the planet Trenzalore. And Doctor Daddy was walking towards a weird looking crash helmet of sorts, with that shiny looking watch thingamajig in his hand. Not to mention, Doctor Daddy seemed a bit nervous too.  
  
Before his baby mind could figure out what other Time Lord technology was going on in front of his eyes, the Chameleon Arch latched onto The Doctor’s head, and proceeded to practically suck the living life out of him, causing him to shriek and shriek and shriek in agony.  
  
Before The Doctor’s memories were wiped out of his Time Lord mind, his biology altered to that of a human DNA, and his unconsciousness took over, he thought he heard Matty screaming out to him, begging for the Chameleon Arch to stop the procedure.  
  
“DADDDDYYYY!!!” That was the last thing he heard echoing through his emptied mind, before he passed out.

 

*

 

Moments after the TARDIS had safely teleported The Doctor, now known as the human John Smith, and his son, Matty, back into Earth, to the exact coordinates she and Twelve had set in her system on their way to Trenzalore, she received an incoming call from the TARDIS emergency line.

Blinking on the screen was the caller’s ID: Matty.  
  
The TARDIS accepted the call, and the older Matty, almost in his 20s, appeared on the screen.  
  
“Hello, can you hear me?” Matty conveyed directly to the screen display from his end. “This is Matty, calling from the TARDIS.”  
  
“This is to report that Clara Oswald has been secured, and safely transmitted through the time vortex, to the coordinates that was provided,” he continued. “I repeat. Mum is safe now, and she’s back on Earth, at the exact coordinates given.”  
  
Then, Matty smiled, and his fingers came up to touch the screen.  
  
“Thank you, ol’ girl,” Matty whispered. “Thank you for doing this for mum and dad – and me.”  
  
With that, the call was disconnected, and Matty’s face blinked off the screen display.  
  
The TARDIS felt pretty impressed with herself, for the things that she had managed to pull off thus far. The Doctor’s new identity, Clara’s new lease of life, and Matty’s future confirmed with that call from the coming days.  
  
Then, the TARDIS put herself in motion again, and set course back to Trenzalore, where Twelve would be for the next 300 years. Because that was where she should be right now, with The Doctor. When the time should come, a long time from now, the Mother Superious Tasha Lem would have control over the TARDIS, and they would set out to find a younger Clara Oswald, so that she could come back to The Doctor’s side on his final days.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The voice was undeniable. It was him. It was her Doctor.

Clara jolted awake from what seemed like a dream, screaming. Her eyes darted about, trying to make sense of where she had ended up in. Her blurry vision took in the beeping monitors surrounding her, and tubes going in and out of her body. She wasn’t wearing her own clothes, but donned a clean and eerie scrub. She checked her shaking hands, palms opened, the leaf Matty gave her – gone.

Clara panicked, and started thrashing about, assuming wildly that she had ended up on an extraterresterial experimentation. It felt like the Dalek Asylum all over again.

“Where am I?” Clara asked aloud, as she started pulling the tubes out of her arms, causing one of the monitors to flatline with a long and breathful beep. “Where am I? WHERE AM I?”

Her clamour must had set off alarms somewhere out there, as Clara heard footsteps rushing towards the room she was in. The door burst open, and nurses – of the human kind, or what seemed like the human species – rushed up towards her, and attempted to restrain her back on to her bed.

“Miss Oswald,” one of them said, with a firm grip on her right forearm, which was now trying to pull an inch-long needle out of her left wrist. “Please stop – please calm down.”

“Who are you?” Clara demanded. “What have you done to me? Where am I? WHERE AM I?”

“Everything is alright, Miss Oswald,” another nurse said to her calmly, but her grasp remained sturdy as she tried to push Clara back to the lying position on her bed. “Everything is just fine, please – please calm down.”

“I’m not going to calm down until you tell me – WHERE I AM!” Clara screamed, writhing about to free herself from the nurses’ strong restraints, which seemed to clamp down on her harder and more painfully, the more she struggled. “LET GO OF ME! YOU’RE HURTING ME!”

“Get the anesthetic!” One of the nurses looked over her shoulder, and shouted to the third one standing by the door, looking rather dumbfounded at the madness unfolding in front of her. She must be new.

“BAYMAN!” The nurse shouted firmly, and Bayman by the door snapped out of her thoughts. “Anesthetic – Now!”

The nurse called Bayman nodded profusely, before stumbling out of the room.

“AND GET DR SMITH!” The nurse shouted after her.

“Why do they keep bringing over airheads like that for interns?” The other nurse addressed the first one, as she tightened the straps over Clara’s thrashing body.

“The question is: are there even anything other than airheads where they come from?” The first nurse said, securing the big locks of the straps, and immobilising Clara completely.

Clara looked from one nurse to the other, shocked as to how calm they were behaving, despite the situation at hand, and how they could be ignoring her, no matter how loud she screamed.

“Why are you doing this?” Clara asked, tears springing into her eyes. “Where am I? What are you going to do with me?”

The second nurse could only sighed audibly, as she reattached the various tubes and needles back into Clara’s arms.

The first nurse, however, took hold of Clara’s right hand and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s been a long sleep, hasn’t it, Miss Oswald?” She smiled sympathetically down at Clara. “It’s totally expected that you should feel such immense disarray when you wake up.”

“Long sleep?” Clara interjected. “What do you mean? How long have I been sleeping?”

“But please, Miss Oswald,” the nurse ignored her questions. “You _really_ have to calm down.”

Before Clara could say another word, the third nurse, Bayman, returned back into her line of sight from where she was lying in bed, and handed the first nurse a tray of needles and things Clara could not cared less about, but at the same time, was not sure if she would want them stuck into her.

“I’ve paged Dr Smith,” Bayman told the first nurse. “He’s on the way.”

The first nurse merely grunted her approval at Bayman, as she brought the syringe to her eye level, flicked it a few times and checked if the dosage was the proper one, before jabbing it into the IV tube secured at the back of Clara’s right elbow.

“What is it? Please stop, please. Please don’t do this – please…” Clara rambled on with tears streaming down her face, as she watched the transluscent fluid in the syringe slowly lessened, and the effects of the drugs quickly hindered her consciousness. “Please… Please…”

Clara was already teetering off the edge of awareness, when the mentioned Dr Smith finally arrived in Clara’s room. He had been running all the way from the other side of the hospital wing, and was barely catching his breath as he steadied himself against the railing of the bed.

“Having a bit of a morning jog, are we?” The second nurse quipped at the doctor, trying hard to contain her smile.

“I haven’t jogged in years!” Dr Smith said between breaths. “Might need to ask the board for Segways to get us from one end of the hospital to the other.”

Clara gasped, when she heard the doctor speak. She knew that voice. She had heard that voice before.

“Doctor…” She struggled with her words, her fingers that were strapped down to the bed reached out towards him.

Dr Smith came to Clara’s side to have a closer look at his patient.

“You’re alright, Miss Oswald,” he told her. “Just try to relax.”

The voice was undeniable. It was him.

Clara’s eyes were already fluttering shut, and her vision was melting into a pile of distorted colours and shapes. But it was indisputable, now that Dr Smith’s face was a few inches from hers.

That big ugly side parting he called a hairdo. That elongated face shape with a sizeable chin at the bottom and sharp cheekbones. Those sunken eye sockets with those delicate eyebrows highlighting the greenish blue irises.

It was him. It was her Doctor.

 

*

 

After he was done with his shift for the night, Dr John Smith retreated to the staff’s locker room. Initially, he had wanted to change and get home in time for dinner, but he ended up sitting on the bench in front of his locker, head lowered as he pored over one of his patients’ medical file, through his round horn-rimmed glasses propped on his nose.

  
There had always been something about Clara Oswald, ever since the day she was assigned to Dr Smith under his care. Sure, she was quite a looker, but he had never gotten too attached to someone due to mere physical traits. Besides, Clara Oswald was a comatose patient; it would be rather inappropriate, not to mention, perverted, to be anything more than patient/doctor acquaintance. Dr John Smith had never been one to date people at work.  
  
That was why he had always shied away from the flirtatious Tracie Bayman, one of the nursing interns assisting him. Conversing about professional matters, or small talking about what they were up to for the coming weekends were no problem at all for John. But when the young nurse started suggesting they do something together – something more, if you catch my drift, John would always freeze up, mutter something that came out all squeaky, before scrambling off to check on his next patient.  
  
For as long as Dr John Smith could remember, he had always been awkward with girls – even more so with guys. That was why at his early 30s, he had yet to find a steady relationship with a girl, much less settle down and start a family with one. It was partly fortunate for him that his parents were not around anymore to see such a disappointment that is their son. Although they might agree on the “accident” that had occurred in his life much recently, but then again, not so much, seeing that the mother was nowhere to be found, and John had to take care of this “accident” all on his own – an “accident” he had never really found the right time to tell any of his colleagues before.  
  
But Clara – this Clara Oswald, even though John had spent most of his time watching over her in an unconscious state, and only earlier this morning, saw her addressing him rather fondly by his title, he already felt she was different – special, even, if he might be so bold to say.  
  
John flipped through the pages of her report, one that he had probably memorised from back to front, after going through it so many times. Car accident, comatose for six months, severe head trauma, had to go into surgery twice – once for when she was brought in (burst blood vein), and another about two months after she was admitted (excessive blood coagulation towards the cerebral cortex), went into hypothermia after the second one and made quite a day for Dr Smith when that happened. Woke up six months later and showed signs of hysteria.  
  
_Yup, she is something alright…_ John thought to himself, as he flipped back to the first page of the medical file, and stared long and hard at the picture of Clara Oswald clipped to the front page.  
  
“I never know why, I only know who.”  
  
That had been the running thought on Dr John Smith’s mind, in case anyone asked him why he felt she was “something”. Of course, nobody asked, and of course, John never knew where that thought ever came from. It just sparked up one morning when he woke up, and it had stuck with him since, much like how he had gone into work one morning, and Clara Oswald’s file was slotted into his pigeonhole at the receptionist.  
  
John felt someone pulling his braces from behind, and before he could turn around, the culprit let go, and the elastic band snapped back onto his body with a loud and painful _SMACK!_  
  
“Oiii!” John twisted his arm around and started rubbing his back rapidly. “Will you stop doing that?”  
  
“Only if you stop dressing up like my ol’ pops,” David McDonald, John’s fellow neurology doctor and friend, (and when he said “friend”, he was using the term rather loosely), said as he plopped down beside him on the bench. “You know, you’re the only 30-year-old I know who dresses like he’s about to retire.”  
  
“What?” John looked down at his outfit.  
  
David gestured towards the braces, the big horn-rimmed glasses that seem to magnify John’s eyes and make him look perpetually surprised, the pants that were sitting slightly too high above his waistline and the hems cutting off around the ankles, and the bowtie, which David would always make an effort to mess up or just unravel altogether, whenever they past each other in the hallways.  
  
This time, it was no exception. Just as David was about to reach up and skew the bowtie off, John smacked his friend’s hand just in time.  
  
“Stop it – bowties are cool,” John quipped, and straightened the little thing resting under his throat.  
  
“That’s what my pops said before he keeled over,” David replied jokingly. “May God rest his soul.”  
  
John pursed his lips, trying not to laugh and give David the satisfaction of being funny without even trying.  
  
“Well, he’d certainly keel over perving on such a pretty young girl,” David added, eyeing the picture of Clara Oswald in the medical file propped open on John’s lap. John quickly shut it and placed his hands over the file securely. “Ogling over the young lass again, are we?”  
  
“I’m not – ogling,” John’s face reddened suddenly. “I’m just checking on her medical records. She’s just woken up today, if you must know.”  
  
“Ohhh,” David nudged, and gave John a playful wink. “Time for that long postponed cup of coffee now, eh?”  
  
“Shut up!” John could feel the tips of his ears burning, as David cackled away.  
  
Awkwardly, John shuffled towards his locker, and shoved the file into his messenger bag. He swung the strap of the bag across his chest, grabbed his bike helmet, and slammed the locker door shut, before trudging stiffly out of the locker room.  
  
“Send my love to Sleeping Beauty!” David yelled after John, in which John responded by sticking the finger at his friend from around the doorway.  
  
“Oh, Dr Smith,” David replied in a high-pitched voice. “Don’t you think we should go on at least one date first before we get – _freaky_?”  
  
John doubled back so he could poke his head back into the locker room, and give David the hottest glare he could muster. The Scottish doctor only laughed harder.  
  
“Yeah, he’s a funny man, isn’t he? Har-har-har,” John rolled his eyes and left, David’s laughter echoed down the empty corridor with him.  
  
John could never win with his friend when it comes to childish pestering like this.

 

*

 

Dr John Smith had just parked his motorbike on the ground level below his apartment unit, when he took off his helmet and goggles, and looked up at the fifth floor above his head, where the nanny and Max had poked their heads out from the corridor balcony, and were looking down at him with big smiles on their faces. The nanny spoke something into Max’s ear, and the toddler clapped his little hands gleefully, which got John grinning from ear to ear up at his son.

No matter how bad his days get at the hospital, John always loved coming home to see his son smiling back at him. Most mornings were drags, of course, as he spent time with Max at the dining table, most of the time trying to have breakfast and reading the day’s newspaper, while cleaning up after the mess Max makes, while they waited for the nanny, Amber, to swing by for the day.

Sometimes, he had to bring Max to work, when Amber were in one of her exam weeks in University. He would go in extra early those mornings before his colleagues from the same department, and send Max over to the pediatric floor to Nurse Imms, one of the senior nurses of the department, and leave the toddler under her care.

Those days, he would sneak off for longer lunches, (if he weren’t on call for any of his patients), and steal some extra playtime hours with his little boy. His colleagues, but it was mostly David, would tease him about those long lunches, assuming John’s secret rendezvous with one of the nurse interns on another floor, and getting up to some hanky panky in the storage room. John could only play along with David, and pretend he was embarrassed about it, but he tried not to overdo it, lest he wants to get himself fired for inappropriate behaviour at work.

“Hello, ol’ boy!” John greeted Max with a higher pitched voice and open arms, when he walked through the front door.

The little boy practically squealed when he saw his dad, and was attempting to lurch into his arms from Amber’s. John closed the distance between him and Amber, so Max could clamber up his chest, and get showered with kisses all over his face, as he tried to pull at his dad’s nose and ears and the lock of hair falling on his face.

“Hey, Amber,” John went on to greet the nanny and kissed her on the cheek, not quite noticing the young lady blushing red, as he was trying to stop Max from pulling his hair into his mouth. “How was the little rascal today?”

“V-Very good, Doctor,” Amber stuttered a little, still recovering from her embarrassment.

“Oh, Amber, how many times do I have to tell you?” John sighed. “Call me John.”

Amber lowered her head and smiled, the rosy cheeks returning.

“We, uh, watched cartoons today,” Amber said, as she followed John into the living area, and watched as he plopped down onto the sofa, making funny faces at Max. “After that, he napped for a couple of hours, while I cleaned up the place a bit – and made you some dinner.”

“You shouldn’t have, Amber,” John looked up at the nanny. “You don’t need to do that, I’ve told you before already.”

“I-It’s no hassle, really!” Amber interjected, still smiling uncontrollably at the charming young doctor. “I just – I have extra time to spare. When you said you were running a bit late, I thought you might need dinner too. I can heat it up for you right –”

“Oh no, you don’t!” John got up from the sofa, and shifted Max so the baby was propped upright on his right hip. He practically ran past Amber, and blocked her way into the kitchen. “Your time is up, Amber, and you should go home.”

John smiled, and Amber felt the butterflies fluttering at the pit of her stomach.

“No, really,” he continued. “I can take it from here. I mean, I’ve got some work to look into, but yeah, Max and I will be fine.”

“I-I can stay – if you want,” Amber bit her bottom lip, and reached out to pat Max on the head, if only so her hesitant touch could linger on and stray its way to John’s arm.

John felt himself tensed up almost immediately, and he believed that Max felt it too, as the boy suddenly looked up at him, as if asking if something was the matter when the nanny said she could stay on a little longer.

John had been here before, getting “hit on” by the young and beautiful nanny. There were no grand gestures just yet that let the oblivious doctor know that she is interested – very interested, but John would rather things not head down that way.

So, much like the other times John saw the warning signs going off, he put on an act and carefully declined Amber’s offer.

“Nah, it’s alright, really,” he said casually. “It’s been a long day so…”

“Oh yeah – yeah, totally understand,” Amber straightened herself up and slapped on a convincing smile. Her hand slid off John’s arm and went back to Max’s head. “Besides, Max misses you – I should just get out of the way.”

John felt bad, as he watched Amber scrambled about to gather her things to leave. Part of him wanted to tell her to stay, at least have dinner with him, the dinner she had prepared for him so endearingly. But another part of him knew that if he did that, one thing might lead to another, and right now, being in _another_ relationship might be a little too much for him to handle, especially when he needs both his arms to take care of Max.

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow!” Amber said a little too chirpily at the door. She let herself out and shut the door behind her, before John could utter another word, probably saving him from changing his mind, and potentially ruining things on the way.

Max looked on at the closed door and gurgled to himself, which in baby talk meant: “Why didn’t you ask her to stay for dinner, daddy?”

John let out an audible sigh, partly over the bad conscience, but mostly, because he was relieved of sorts.

“Right, now,” John turned his attention to Max. “Daddy’s got to have his dinner, and then get some work done, so that we can both get to bed in time.”

He walked into the kitchen, secured Max on the baby chair, and got the microwave running for the cling-wrapped dinner waiting for him in the fridge.

Matty – or Max, as he was called from now on – could only look on, as Doctor Daddy went about his antics in front of him, the usual choreograph he puts on while waiting for dinner to get ready, trying to humour Matty. All the while, Matty was still perplexed, as to why his daddy had not been himself lately.

Ever since they returned from the TARDIS, and daddy had decided to play dress up and “go to work”, while leaving him home alone with a complete stranger, Doctor Daddy had not been the same. He used to be more attentive towards Matty’s needs, and definitely could converse with him most naturally.

Now, it was like Matty had been speaking a totally foreign language with his dad. It was as if Doctor Daddy had forgotten how to talk to him!

It upsetted Matty whenever he was reminded that Doctor Daddy does not understand him anymore, but those moments quickly passed, because every once in a while, Matty would still catch the slightest sight of the old Doctor Daddy lingering about in this new form. Like right now, as daddy did the drunk giraffe dance towards him, and tweaking his bowtie under his (big) chin as he rubbed his nose against Matty’s.

It kept a kind of hope in Matty that somewhere inside, the real Doctor Daddy was still around, and he was never completely with a total stranger wearing daddy’s face.

 

*

 

But later that night, confusion blanketed little Matty whole, a little too much for a baby his age and size to hold.

John had perched his son on his lap, as he got out his glasses again, and looked through the medical file of Clara Oswald. For reasons unbeknownst to him, Matty started acting rather huffy as he kept on slapping his little palms on the opened folder. He was a bit calmer at first, merely babbling nonsense to him, as he flipped through the pages. But when Matty saw Clara’s photo clipped to the front page, it seemed to trigger something in him and got him in a fussy frenzy.

Little did John know then, that Matty was actually telling his dad, over and over again that there she was – mommy.

“Mommy!” Matty said in his baby language, clapping his hands down on the photo.

“Yes, Max,” John replied. “That’s daddy’s patient. A bit of a – mess, that one. But daddy will look into it when he goes to work tomorrow.”

“No – mommy!” Matty said again. “Mommy, mommy, mommy!”

His little palms hitting the folder every time he called out to his mommy.

John was confused at first, as to why Matty was behaving like that; he had never seen Matty acting so emotionally whenever he had to bring home his work for the day. Then, he glanced over at the clock, and noticed that it was already past Matty’s bedtime.

“No wonder you’re – protesting at daddy working,” John said, taking off his glasses and putting the folder aside. “It’s already past your bedtime – off we go now!”

Matty still looked rather perturbed as John laid him in his crib, and got him ready for bed. The baby was confused. Why didn’t daddy recognise mommy? Doesn’t he know mommy anymore?

Those questions threw Matty into an upset cry. John had to take him out of the crib again, leaned the toddler against his shoulder and began rocking him to calm him down – not quite sure what had happened that set Matty off like that.

“It’s mommy, daddy… It’s mommy… mommy…” Matty cried profusely. “I miss mommy… Bring mommy home, daddy… Bring her home…”

“There, there, ol’ boy,” John whispered along to his lulling. “It’s been a long day, but daddy’s here now. Shhhh… Daddy’s here now…”

About two hours later, Matty tired himself out from the incessive crying, and eventually, fell asleep against John’s chest, as the young doctor laid exhausted himself on the armchair next to the crib, still dressed in his work wear for that day. It took Matty awhile to get used to things, now that his daddy had only one heart, but the steady beats of that one heart would still soothe him, even during confusing times like this.

That night, with a protective hand laying on the back of his son’s small form, John had a dream, and he dreamed of Clara Oswald. He dreamed of her in the most peculiar situations ever – none of them happened at this current time and place they were in, but somewhere out there possibly, in another dimension of time and space. Flashes of her from different lifetimes smiling back at him: In Victorian London, where she was dressed as a governess; In some kind of a spaceship aeons away, dressed in red with a utility belt hanging off her waist; In another kind of spaceship, but this time, there was a pillar of thunder and lightning snapping ferociously behind her.

“Run, you clever boy,” They all seemed to say to him, while looking at him simultaneously. “And remember.”

John snapped out of his sleep. It was already morning. Matty shifted unconsciously in his sleep, and John blinked a few times at the jarring light that has poured into the nursery room. Images of Clara Oswald from the dream still burned hot at the back of his retina.

“Clever boy,” he whispered to himself, as he leaned back on the armchair, his hand patting the back of Matty’s small form haphazardly. “Clever boy...”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite everything that did not and would not ever make sense in this world, Dr John Smith found himself wondering what if she was telling the truth?

Clara remained lying in bed, after she had woken up from her drowsy sleep a couple of hours ago. She stared up at the jarring fluorescent light above her head, her ears perked up to her surroundings behind the drawn curtains that kept her hidden from whatever was going on on the other side.  
  
She could hear footsteps behind the curtains, some quick and sure as if rushing off somewhere important, while others were languid shuffles down the hallway accompanied by the squeaking sound of little wheels. Once in a while, she could hear voices on the other side, nurses and doctors greeting each other, or nurses and doctors greeting the patients.  
  
The early sunlight was pouring through the equally drawn curtains at the window, shutting whatever world it was outside from Clara. She could hear life coming into being as the sun rose ever the higher, and before long, the sound of approaching vehicles and the rushing wails of sirens filled the empty room.  
  
Everything seemed “normal” around her, Clara thought. All these noises that swirled around her, reminded her so much of the time when she had to make frequent visits with her father to the hospital to see her ailing mother. Days before her untimely death, she had even stayed overnight in her mother’s ward, half-sleeping on the chair at the other side of the room, while keeping an eye on her mother. Clara missed a lot of school days back then, but slacks were cut, lots of them, from her faher, her school teachers and her school headmaster. Minutes and hours of the days just melted away, until she lost the sense of how long she had been spending her time in the hospital – very much like right now.  
  
Clara was still very much confused as to how she ended up here, in this seemingly “normal” hospital. The last thing she remembered was facing her death with the quantum shade, and falling into an old but familiar chasm and meeting her son, all grown up. She also remembered Matty telling her to hold on tight to the leaf and it would bring her back safely to The Doctor. But her fingers must have slipped as she went through the time vortex, and perhaps it was the reason why she ended up where she was right now.  
  
However, she also remembered seeing The Doctor, before passing out the night before – or was it two nights ago? Clara was just not quite sure why the nurses addressed him as “Dr Smith”, not to mention, how this Dr Smith insisted on addressing her “Miss Oswald”. Was he in disguise for an undercover, and had played into the role a little too much? If so, why in a seemingly “normal” hospital, unless it was never a “normal” hospital, and The Doctor was buying time to save her from whatever trouble she had gotten herself into? Whatever the reason, at least the leaf had worked its magic through the time vortex, and she did, nevertheless, ended up where The Doctor was, albeit a few things slightly out of place.  
  
Clara snapped out of her thoughts when she heard footsteps drawing towards her. She quickly sat up from the bed, anxious to see The Doctor coming to get her. The curtains drew back, and sure enough, there he was, with his bowtie and braces, (draped over with a white coat and a stethoscope peeking out of one of the pockets), and his hair falling off the side of his face and his wide eyes that go with his wide smile. Clara could not help smiling back at him in return.  
  
“Doctor,” she whispered, sounding slightly emotional to see him – finally, standing right in front of her.  
  
“Hello, Miss Oswald,” The Doctor greeted as he approached the end of her bed to flip through the clipboard hanging off the railing. “Looks like we woke up from the right side of the bed this time. You’re looking much better than you were yesterday.”  
  
“What’s going on, Doctor?” Clara asked, still not quite getting used to The Doctor’s undercover “act”. “What happened? How did I get here? Where are we?”  
  
“We are in the Royal London Hospital,” The Doctor replied, putting down the clipboard, and making his way to the side of Clara’s bed, as he stuck the earpieces of the stethoscope into his ears, and blew onto the resonator to heat up the device. “Do pardon me, Miss Oswald, but I’m going to have to check on your vital status for a bit.”  
  
Clara watched The Doctor closely as he leaned in to check on her beating heart. It would be slightly racy, as she was at such close proximity with him, and she just wanted to reach out and pull him into a tight hug – even planting a few kisses on his lips too. But judging by the way The Doctor was so focused on what he was doing, and the way he kept on calling her “Miss Oswald”, the feeling that some things were still not right held her back.  
  
The Doctor met Clara’s gaze for half a second, and even threw her a polite smile. Her heartbeat quickened slightly.  
  
“Wh-What are we doing in the Royal London Hospital, Doctor?” she asked, trying to distract herself. “Are there – aliens about?”  
  
The Doctor pulled the resonator back and unplugged the earpieces, looking at Clara with furrowed brows.  
  
“Erm, no – no aliens of any sort – or at least I don’t think so,” The Doctor chuckled uneasily, as he pulled the seat near Clara’s bed closer to her and sat down.  
  
He wrung his hands a little, a common trade Clara had seen too often on The Doctor when he was about to tell her something that she might not like to hear.  
  
“You – were in a car accident, Miss Oswald,” he chose his words and spoke them carefully. “A very bad car accident.”  
  
“O-Ohh?” Clara replied, when all she wanted to say was, “that’s it?”  
  
“You were badly injured when you were brought in, and you fell into a coma for six months,” The Doctor continued. “Do you – remember any of that, by any chance?”  
  
Clara paused for a moment, trying to recall this history The Doctor had just told her, but it was futile; all she could remember was the raven and Matty and the leaf. She could not remember the accident or the coma because they were not true.  
  
She leaned forward towards The Doctor, so that their faces were only inches apart.  
  
“I wasn’t in a car accident, Doctor, you know that,” she whispered softly, in case someone was listening in on them not far away.  
  
“Something happened in the time vortex,” she continued. “After I – died, I was thrown back into your time stream. You know, the one when we were in Trenzalore?”  
  
“T-Trenzalore?” The Doctor repeated, confusion growing ever steadily on his face.  
  
“Yes, and I met – I met Matty there – our son,” Clara said, and The Doctor’s eyes widened when she said “our son”. “And he gave me this leaf that I gave him when he was a baby, and he told me to hold tight to it – because it would bring me straight back to you.”  
  
She reached out and touched The Doctor’s face gently. He glanced at her hand on his cheek skeptically, but dared not move an inch.  
  
“And it did,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “I don’t know what happened and how everything happened but – it did. It brought me home to you.”  
  
Their eyes remained fixed on each other’s, and it was a while longer, before Clara realised that The Doctor had no idea what she had just told him. Could it be that something had just happened in the time and space continuum that even The Doctor did not know about? But it wasn’t just that, Clara noticed as her hand slipped off The Doctor’s face. She could see the uncertainty and oblivion, not to mention the total blankness of it all, burning in his greenish blue eyes that everything she had told him didn’t make sense to him.  
  
“Miss Oswald…” The Doctor started hesitantly.  
  
“Why do you keep calling me that?” Clara shot back.  
  
“Be-Because that’s your name, isn’t it?” The Doctor stammered. “Clara Oswald. That’s your name.”  
  
“Yes, I know that’s my name, but you’ve never called me ‘Miss Oswald’ before,” Clara replied in a haste. “You’ve always called me ‘Clara’ or – or…”  
  
“I-I just thought it would be impolite to call you by your first name, when you’ve only just met me,” The Doctor attempted to explain. “But if you’d prefer I call you ‘Clara’ then –”  
  
“I haven’t just met you, Doctor,” she interrupted his sentence. “I’ve met you for years already. We’ve travelled the universe and saved civilisations – You came back to me, a-and we had a child together. I wrote it in my last letter to you, didn’t Twelve give it to you?”  
  
“The universe? Twelve?” The Doctor asked, looking at Clara as if she had grown an extra head on her shoulder.  
  
“Stop it – stop pretending!” she hissed rather vehemently, which threw The Doctor back a little. “It’s fine if you’re undercover here for – whatever adventure you’re on today, but just – stop it. Stop pretending as if you don’t know what the hell I’ve been talking about!”  
  
“But I really don’t, Miss Os- I mean, Clara,” The Doctor rectified quickly and clumsily. “I’m not – pretending. I’m not lying when I said you’ve been in a coma, and right now is really the first time you’re meeting me, seeing that you were brought in unconscious and had not been awake for six months.”  
  
Clara gaped. She did not know how to respond to that.  
  
“And I – really don’t know what you’re on about when you talk about some – time vortex or Trenzalore or Twelve or – travelling all over the universe,” The Doctor went on. “I’ve been a doctor here since I finished my training a couple of years back, and I’ve never met you before now, when you’re assigned to me as my patient – and we certainly, definitely did not have a child together. It would be – be – impossible!”  
  
Clara fell back onto the bed, unable to take her eyes off the flustered Doctor.  
  
“You’re – You’re not The Doctor? _My_ Doctor?” Clara could feel her world falling into pieces with every word she uttered.  
  
“Well, of course I’m your doctor, Clara,” The Doctor said. “I’ve been taking care of you for the last six months.”  
  
“No, not _a_ doctor – _the_ Doctor,” she said, and stayed The Doctor in a cloud of befuddlement he thought for a moment there he had gotten out of. “The Doctor – a Time Lord – from Gallifrey. You’re more than a thousand years old!”  
  
“Erm, no, Clara,” The Doctor approached cautiously. “I just turned 30 early this year, and I’m not from – Gallifrey… I’m from London, not Scotland.”  
  
“Gallifrey isn’t in Scotland!” Clara burst unexpectedly, and The Doctor jumped out of his seat.  
  
“OK, Miss Oswald, just calm do-” The Doctor had now backed away from Clara a little further, and his right hand was outstretched.  
  
“Stop calling me – Miss Oswald!” Clara was near screaming now, and tears were trickling down her cheeks. “I’m Clara! I’m _your_ Clara! I’m _your_ Impossible Girl!”  
  
Clara threw the blanket off her, and swung both her legs onto the ground. She could feel her weakened knees wobbling as she made her way towards The Doctor, who seemed like he was just about ready to bolt from the room, but at the same time, didn’t feel right to do so to his patient. Clara had just managed two meagre shuffles forward before her knees gave in, and she tumbled forward. The Doctor reached out in time and grabbed her instinctively, as they both fell down onto the floor, Clara curled up in his arms, crying.  
  
“Nurse! NURSE!” The Doctor yelled over Clara’s head towards the open door.  
  
“What have they done to you, Doctor?” Clara asked in between tears, looking up at The Doctor in despair. “Why can’t you remember who you are? Why can’t you remember me? You were supposed to remember me…”  
  
“I-I’m sorry, Miss Oswald, I’m really sorry,” The Doctor did not know what else to say, as he looked down at the crumbling young lady in his arms, crying and crying like she had lost her entire world, because The Doctor was not the person she thought he was. “I’m sorry – I don’t – I don’t know how –”  
  
Before he could finish his sentence, his assisting nurses rushed into the room. Together with his help, they carried Clara back onto her bed, and one of the nurses got the anesthetic prepped, as the other held Clara’s arms down. It was not really necessary, as Clara had gotten too weak to even protest to the sleep-inducing drug. All she could do was look longingly at The Doctor, and hoped that he would show her a sign – _any_ sign – to let her know that it was prudent that he kept up with this act, or else he might get caught and something bigger might be at stake. But all she could see in The Doctor’s eyes were pure fright and disorientation.  
  
The Doctor was not pretending. The Doctor was gone.  
  
As the needle pinched into Clara’s inner elbow, she saw Matty’s face flashing before her eyes, and her heart broke for the second time.  
  
“As long as you get back together with dad, you _will_ see me again,” Matty had told her.  
  
But now, The Doctor could not even recognise her, let alone know who he really was. Some things had gone out of place in this version of the world, and it had cost Clara her son’s future.  
  
Drowsiness washed down on Clara’s being, as she struggled to remember how Matty looked when he was just a baby, and how he would look if he were to exist and turn 20 in this lifetime.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Matty,” she whispered to herself, sleep slowly taking her whole. “I’m so sorry…”

 

*

 

Dr John Smith sat in the conference room, together with the Board of Directors from the Royal London Hospital, including the Head of the Department of Neurology, his department, and the Head of the Department of Psychiatry and Psychology. A meeting was called for the important doctors in the hospital, when John reported on the incident that happened earlier this morning to his Head of Department, Dr Wilfred Hartnell. During the meeting, John had to stand in front of the board, and dictate the report he had put together just hours ago, and had made copies for every important doctor in the room, who had their heads down, as John read the report to them.

After that, as each important doctor took turns to tell the board why they were there and what were their important professional opinions on the case in hand, John just sort of tuned out for the rest of the meeting. The last few hours had gone by in a blur for him, and he was not even sure he was entirely himself when he penned down his report, and when he read it out loud to the important doctors. At one point, John even felt silly writing the report, including points of time travelling and other nonsense in it; one of the important doctors could very much accuse John of making things up, of writing science fiction in an important report for a very important meeting.  
  
But that was what it was, and the logical part of John’s brain knew that everything that Clara Oswald was telling him was poppycock, and based on his years of medical studies, it could very much be a textbook case of mental disorder: insanity, dementia, hysteria, delirium, hallucination – you name it. That was why the Head of the Department of Psychiatry and Psychology was brought in; the important doctors strongly believed that Clara Oswald was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Logically, it was the only explanation to Clara’s case, and her outburst about time vortexes and the number twelve and Gallifrey-that-is-not-in-Scotland.  
  
Yet, at the same time, Dr John Smith could not help shake a certain kind of feeling off him. As lunatic as everything sounded to him, a part of John – a very small part of him, but still a very strong part – could not help feeling that despite the absurdity, Clara Oswald could be telling the truth. It wasn’t because John had been watching too many sci-fi television and films in his lifetime, nor was it because John had always thought Clara looked rather attractive to him, and her physical form had somehow hindered the way he sees things – both of which John did not care to mention to Dr Hartnell or in his report, lest the important doctors thought him to be a silly little medical practitioner. It was bad enough that he was the youngest in the room; the youngest doctor, acting out of infatuous emotions and pop culture references, that would be detrimental to his career indeed.  
  
No. It was because of the way Clara Oswald had looked at him.  
  
Dr John Smith had not encountered many outstanding cases of patients like the one today during his brief two years as a proper medical practitioner, but it did not take years of tuition fees at the University and a paper stating his educational level and legibility to practise medicine, to know that there were no madness or disorientation in Clara’s eyes, but sheer fear – fear that John would not believe anything Clara told him.  
  
That was why despite everything that passed through Clara Oswald’s lips, everything that did not and would not ever make sense in this world, Dr John Smith found himself wondering what if she was telling the truth?  
  
What if he had met Clara Oswald before? What if they were more than just doctor and patient acquaintances, and they had a son together? What if Dr John Smith was really a Time Lord from Gallifrey, (whatever a Time Lord is, and wherever Gallifrey is)? What if Clara Oswald was never in a car accident, but in his so-called time stream, and the future version of their son had rescued her – with a leaf? What if Clara Oswald was never in a coma, but had faced death instead? What if Dr John Smith’s life had always been a lie?  
  
“This is silly – this is just – _impossible_!” John thought out loud, much to the important doctors’ chagrin.  
  
“I beg your pardon, Dr Smith?” Dr Hartnell looked at John, much surprised at the younger doctor’s outburst of declination after the Board of Directors had came to a unanimous conclusion for the case at hand.  
  
“I mean – erm…” John straightened himself up in his seat, and his eyes darted nervously from one important doctor to another. He had totally lost the plotline at this meeting.  
  
Dr Hartnell sighed, being all too familiar with the young doctor’s proneness to daydreaming, even during a meeting as important as the one he was in, and took it upon himself to recap what John had missed.  
  
“The Board has decided that Dr Foreman here will conduct a session with your patient, Clara Oswald, tomorrow morning in your presence,” he said. “Just to get a gauge on her psychological health and being, following her accident and comatose state.”  
  
“Oh, yes, yes, totally up for that,” John agreed hurriedly. He could already imagine how silly he sounded earlier with his sudden outburst towards the important doctors’ collective decision. “I’m all for it!”  
  
“That’s settled then!” The Head of the Board of Directors, John could only assume, said and slapped the report on the table in front of him shut.  
  
As if on cue, the other important doctors followed suit, and in a single file, shuffled out of the meeting room, probably towards another equally important meeting somewhere else in the hospital.  
  
When it was only John and his Head of Department left in the room, Dr Hartnell shook his head at the young doctor and heaved a loud sigh.  
  
“Just for once, Dr Smith, and I hope I’m not asking too much of you for that,” Dr Hartnell said as he gathered his things and got ready to leave the room. “Could you keep your mind wandering off from where your physical being is – at least for a crucial meeting like this?”  
  
Dr John Smith could only lower his reddened face, and stuttered his apologies as Dr Hartnell exited the room.

 

*

 

Later that evening, when John was on his way out to head home, he walked by the intensive care unit, where Clara Oswald had been relocated, in preparation for tomorrow’s session with Dr Foreman. He stood by the circular window of the door, and looked in at her. A perpetual look of distress laid distinctively upon her face even then, as she slept soundly in bed.

“Stop calling me – Miss Oswald!” Clara had screamed upsettingly at him earlier. “I’m Clara! I’m _your_ Clara! I’m _your_ Impossible Girl!”  
  
“My Impossible Girl…” John murmured to himself, his breath fogging up the window ever so slightly. “Who are you?”  
  
His mind was greatly distracted as he rode his bike home, almost missing his exit and ending up on the freeway out of central London.  
  
Over and over again, these words repeated in his head: “I never know why, I only know who…”  
  
Words that he had never spoken before out loud in his life, yet at the same time, had a strong feeling that he might have in another lifetime.

 

*

 

_November 28, 2015_

_My dear Matty,_  
  
_It has been a little over two months since you came into my life, yet it felt like it was only yesterday that I saw you all grown up, standing in front of me. And it was only yesterday that I realised that you have been taken away from me._  
  
_We made a mistake, Matty. I made a mistake. A mistake that I have to carry possibly for the rest of my life – without you._  
  
_You shouldn’t have saved me that day in The Doctor’s time stream. You should have just let me rot there, die there, just as I have came to terms when I stood out on the trap street and faced the raven, welcomed death with opened arms._  
  
_The plan didn’t work, Matty. I held onto the leaf so tight, but it didn’t work. It disintegrated from my tightly pinched fingers, and I believed it had somehow thrown me into an alternate universe, where The Doctor was alive and well, but was not himself._  
  
_The Doctor doesn’t know me, and he doesn’t know of your existence. If he doesn’t even know we exist, it can only mean that you will never exist in our future – my future._  
  
_I’m so sorry, dearest Matty. I have never meant for any harm to come your way. I should have taken care of myself more, if only to be around to protect you. Now, look what a mess I’ve made of my life, and in return, your life – your non-existing life!_  
  
_I don’t know what to do now, living in a world where you don’t and will never exist, in a world where The Doctor, my dear Doctor, does not even know I exist. I’d much rather be dead than to live in such a world…_  
  
_If you’re ever still out there, or even if you no longer are – I hope you find it in you to forgive this careless mother of yours. I hope you find it in you to forgive your father as well. It’s never his fault for not knowing. It’s all on me this time._  
  
_Love,_  
 _Mum_

*

 

Clara dreamed of Matty when she went back to sleep again, after waking up in the middle of the night, in a totally different room, to pen down this letter to her son. She exhausted herself from the silent crying, and Matty had came by to comfort her. He sat by her bed, and caressed her, like how she had done when he was a baby and could not stop crying in the middle of the night.

“Don’t cry, mum,” Matty whispered to her gently. “I’m still here.”  
  
It brought solace to Clara, and she curled up into a tighter ball underneath the blanket, shivering by herself, despite the heater running on full in the empty room. Listening to Matty’s soothing voice and feeling his hand running through the top of her hair, she eventually stopped crying, and fell deeper into her sleep.  
  
Only, it wasn’t just a dream. Matty had managed to lock down his mother’s coordinates across time and space, and found her all alone in this depressing hospital room. His heart broke, seeing her weeping like that, and it fell into pieces, reading the words she wrote in the letter to him, the ink for the last paragraph all smudged with her tears.  
  
Matty could hear the cloister bells of the TARDIS going off outside of the hospital, and he knew it was time to go. He barely had time to spend with his mother, and already, he had to leave her. He wished very much that he could stay a little while, if only to accompany her and make sure she was alright until morning breaks, but deep down, he also knew that it was not a good idea to spend more than a few minutes in this timeline.  
  
He dipped his head down and laid a soft kiss on Clara’s forehead.  
  
“Everything will be alright soon, mum, I promise,” Matty said in a quiet voice next to Clara’s ear. “Daddy will come around, just you see.”  
  
The TARDIS was already growing impatient, and was at the start of throwing a hissy fit, when Matty finally walked through the front door and rolled his eyes at the console.  
  
“Don’t you start,” he said to the TARDIS. “You agreed too that I needed to be here. Mother was really upset.”  
  
Without waiting for the TARDIS to respond, Matty pulled down the lever and got them both out of the hospital grounds, sending the TARDIS out into deep space again. Only when the blue box was safe in orbit, Matty reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the letter Clara wrote to him. He sighed, and looked up at the screen display, where a photo of his father was showing. He was all dressed up as a proper medical doctor with his bowtie and brance and his stethoscope hanging out off his neck.  
  
“Oh, father, why did you have to do it?” Matty shook his head.  
  
If he had known The Doctor would get himself mixed up with a Chameleon Arch fob watch, Matty would not have fished Clara out of The Doctor’s time stream, have the TARDIS beam her back in time to where he is. He would perhaps figure out another way to get his parents back together. He felt partially guilty for the cause of Clara’s heartaches right now.  
  
Matty twisted a few notches on the control panel, and tuned the screen display back to the live feed back on Earth, where a new morning had begun, and The Doctor was getting ready at home to go into work. He watched as his father put on his bowtie and did a twirl in front of his baby self, making Max the baby and Matty on the TARDIS smile.  
  
Matty watched as his father handed Max over to the nanny Amber, and hopped on his motorbike to get to work. He watched as The Doctor took the extra walk from the hospital staff room to the intensive care unit, where he once again stood by the circular window and looked in to check on Clara. Matty watched his father wrung his hands as he hesitated to open the door and go in, only to stuff both his wriggly hands into his coat pockets and walked away in a hurry with his head lowered.  
  
He brought the letter to his lips and closed his eyes.  
  
“Please remember, father,” Matty prayed silently. “Please, please, please remember mum soon…”  
  
Matty looked down at his other hand, outstretched in front of his eyes. He could still see himself, all of him – but he knew if The Doctor still could not remember soon, Matty would soon begin to dissipate.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could stories that were not possible in this world, in this lifetime, turn out to be true – while this reality, this really real life, turned out to be a farce?

It had been a little over three weeks, since the dreaded meeting with the Board of Directors of the Royal London Hospital. It would be Christmas next week, and everything had gone back to normal.  
  
Or only seemingly so, for Dr John Smith.  
  
The first few sessions with Dr Foreman went rather smoothly, and through those initial sessions, the doctors managed to extract from Clara Oswald her version of this world, and her version of Dr John Smith, or “The Doctor”, as she insisted on calling him.  
  
They were rather surreal sessions, as Clara went on and on about something called the TARDIS and time travelling, aliens that trapped the citizens of London via WiFi, a parasidic planet that feeds on people’s memories, an extraterresterial Ice Warrior trapped in a Soviet submarine, a mental old lady doing the bidding of a symbiotic leech to end the world… not to mention, (and these were the stories she told all the while not looking away from Dr John Smith), saving The Doctor over and over again by going into his own time stream, saving The Doctor from regret by helping him – and two other different versions of himself – make the right decision for his home planet Gallifrey, and saving him from dying of old age in the planet Trenzalore, where he was supposed to spend the remainder of his last days.  
  
It would seem that the sessions were for the benefit of Dr Foreman, but truthfully, if anyone were to ask Dr John Smith about them, he felt that those sessions were mostly catered for him. A chance for Clara Oswald to tell John everything she knew about The Doctor, and everything he should know about himself. Those sessions might have worked for John, because even without realising it, he found himself drinking in everything that was supposedly about him. Listening to Clara re-enact the many adventures she had been on with The Doctor, something in John stirred, as if there were a part of him that remained dormant till now, a part of him that John never knew existed until he had the chance to hear the stories of these impossible adventures. It was unlike the feeling of reading about the first landing on the moon when he was just a little boy, and wanting to become an astronaut for that year. They were rather silly, as Dr Foreman would later diagnose, but at the same time, not at all impossible.  
  
“Us and our impossibilities…” Clara had said to John during one of the sessions, and had even given him a weak smile.  
  
Days went on after that, and another meeting was called for the Board of Directors. It was then that Dr Foreman presented Clara Oswald’s medical report to the important doctors, and, as John had figured how things would transpire, diagnosed Clara’s post-traumatic stress disorder as slight dementia and hallucination. You know, grown up doctor conclusions. And with that, Dr Foreman requested Clara Oswald to be transferred to her department, and assigned as her patient, so that she could continue her sessions with Clara, and try to “fix” her.  
  
In other words, Dr John Smith of the Department of Neurology was no longer necessary; the more senior and professional doctors who are not clouded by media references and possible attraction will take it from here now.  
  
Clara Oswald didn’t protest on the arrangement as much as John had hope she would. In fact, she didn’t protest at all. When John broke the news to her, she merely looked sad that she would not be seeing John anymore, but all the same agreed to be cared for from then on by another doctor. Instead, it was John who disapproved of the transfer, if only just silently. Being a junior level doctor handling a case that was surmountably bigger than his career thus far, there was not much he could do, when the more important doctors once again came to a unanimous decision to take Clara away from him.  
  
Dr John Smith held Clara’s hand for the first time that day, when the transfer papers had been signed by the doctors and by the patient, and Clara was to be wheeled off to the wards at the Department of Psychiatry and Psychology on the other side of the hospital. The contact shocked both Clara and John.  
  
“It’ll be alright, Clara,” John said to her, as he felt his hand squeezing Clara’s smaller one. “Don’t worry. You’ll be alright.”  
  
Clara’s eyes were brimming with tears, when she brought his hand to her lips and laid a soft kiss on the back of his hand.  
  
As the nurses wheeled Clara off, John could feel the tingle on his hand where Clara’s lips were, and he pretty much still felt it until this day.  
  
This day, a little over three weeks since John last saw Clara, (well, not counting those times when he had sneaked to the other side of the hospital to peek at Clara, to see if she had been doing alright), was the day when he bumped into Dr Foreman in the hospital, and found out that Clara had been discharged but a few days ago, and would only be coming in to see Dr Foreman on a weekly basis.  
  
It was a week before Christmas, when Dr John Smith decided on his way home that he would pop by Clara Oswald’s apartment to see how she was doing. He was not sure what triggered that idea in him. He was not sure why he was even standing at the front steps of Clara’s unit, as he was standing there. He must have been standing there for hours, before he finally bucked up the courage, and rang the doorbell.  
  
Oh, how John’s heartbeat echoed in his burning ears. How he partly wished Clara was not home, and he could just scurry back down the stairs and run away on his motorbike, forget this ever happened, while another part of him, anticipated edgily – perhaps even excitably – for Clara to open the door.  
  
John was just about to pivot around and bolt off, too overwhelmed by all the suspense, when the front door swung open, and there stood Clara, looking just as surprised to see John at her doorstep then.  
  
“Hello, Clara Oswald,” John greeted with an awkward wave.  
  
“Are we doing house calls now?” Clara asked teasingly with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“Oh, no no,” John chuckled nervously, and started wringing his hands together. “I heard from Dr Foreman today that you have left the hospital, so I thought I’d just pop by and see how my previous patient is doing – how _you’re_ doing.”  
  
“Right,” Clara was not quite convinced just yet. “House calls then?”  
  
“Well, I suppose so,” John shrugged, suddenly feeling rather small standing in front of Clara. “It’s not for work though, mind you. It’s strictly – personal.”  
  
“So – you’re stalking me now, Doctor?” Clara asked, taking a step back into her apartment unit.  
  
“No!” John interjected immediately. “That’s not what I meant!”  
  
“So, what exactly are you doing here then?” Clara folded her arms across her chest, looking rather impatient and concerned now that a random doctor was standing at her doorstep, claiming that he was kind of stalking her outside his working hours.  
  
“I was just – I just –” John attempted.  
  
“OK, I’m going to close the door now, and you’re just going to leave,” Clara cut in. “If you don’t, I’m going to phone the police.”  
  
“I-I just thought I’d come by and ask if you’d like to join me for a Christmas dinner next week!” The words just came rushing out of John in a single breath, only to get the message across before Clara slams the door on him.  
  
It stopped Clara from closing the door, that was for sure, but whether or not John liked what was coming next, was still a blur to him.  
  
“Are – Are you asking me out?” Clara stuttered after a seemingly long pause. “Is that even allowed in your hospital? Stalking fellow patients and asking them out for Christmas – do you do this to all your patients?”  
  
“N-No,” John stammered, looking down at his fingers picking on one another’s skin now, scared to look Clara in the eyes. “I just – I just thought it would be nice, you know. I mean, if you’ve got plans with your family, that’s alright, you can just – forget I ever asked. But if you don’t… Well, Max and I are usually on our own for Christmas, and – and if you’re alone for Christmas, I’m not saying that you are, but if – if you are… You could join us.”  
  
“Join you and Max for Christmas dinner?”  
  
“Yes – Max and I.”  
  
“Who’s Max – your dog?”  
  
“No, not my dog – Max is my son.”  
  
“Y-You’ve got a son?”  
  
“Well, yes.”  
  
“Thank you, Doctor,” Clara said. “That’s just the kind of Christmas I’ve been wishing for this year – having dinner with a stalker doctor and his son.”  
  
John smiled, glad that the message finally got across to Clara, but the smile quickly faded as the deadpan look on Clara’s face remained.  
  
“You’re taking a piss at me, aren’t you?” John asked.  
  
“Well spotted, Doctor,” Clara said sarcastically.  
  
It left John speechless, not sure now what he should say or do. He would very much like to dig a hole next to where he was standing and just jump right into it. Or he could just jump over the railing and fall five floors down to the bottom.  
  
John nodded and started to back off from Clara. Clearly this was a very bad idea. John had never been great at asking girls out, much less one that was his patient and had supposed hallucination that they were in a relationship together.  
  
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –” John started, his eyes still lowered.  
  
“No, Doctor – I’m sorry,” Clara sighed.  
  
John took a chance and looked up at Clara hesitantly. Her defences were down and she had loosened up a bit. Her eyes were closed as she rubbed her forehead exasperatingly.  
  
“It’s just – it’s just been a long month for me, you can’t even begin to imagine,” Clara continued. “So, thank you, Doctor – but no thank you. I-I don’t think a Christmas dinner with your son next week is such a good idea. It’s just – too soon.”  
  
“But I can imagine how it’s like for you,” John said, despite still rather hesitantly.  
  
Clara opened her eyes and looked at John with furrowed brows.  
  
“Are we playing doctor now?” Clara spat back. “Testing out your bedside manners or something?”  
  
_Wow, this girl is relentless, isn’t she?_ John thought. _She is, in the most literal sense, an Impossible Girl!_  
  
“What exactly are you doing here, Doctor?” She asked sternly. “And you better tell me right now, or I swear, I’m going to phone the police.”  
  
“OK – OK! I-I meant it when I said I can imagine how it’s like for you,” John blurted out. “Because I have been thinking about the things you’ve said about me – about us.”  
  
Clara folded her arms again on her chest, the look of skepticism still burning on her face.  
  
“I mean – what if you’re right?” John went on. “I mean, listening to you tell all these things to Dr Foreman – I just – It just doesn’t seem like you’re suffering from any disorder. I can see it in your eyes that you are very much sane when you tell them. I can see that you truly believe that I’m – The Doctor.”  
  
“And it just got me thinking, I suppose,” he shrugged. “What if you’re right – what if this life I have is all just a lie?”  
  
“Doctor, you shouldn’t just take my word for it, and – I don’t know, believe in a kind of fantasy you were deprived off in your childhood,” Clara sighed. “Looking back now, Dr Foreman was right – it all seems too good to be true – it all seems very much like fairy tales.”  
  
“But you don’t really believe that, do you?” John asked.  
  
Clara pursed her lips and looked down at her bare feet. Her grip on the doorknob tightened slightly.  
  
“I have to…” John could barely hear her whispered.  
  
Those three words were like a knife twisting through his heart.  
  
There was no point holding back now. John breathed, and started on the things that had been burning inside of him since he first met Clara Oswald. Things that he knew she would be the only one who could understand, and believe, and perhaps, even help him.  
  
“Three weeks,” he said. “It’s been bothering me for three weeks.”  
  
“What has?” Clara asked, looking up at John.  
  
“I can never remember the exact things that happened in my past, Clara,” John said. “I was sitting in the living room one day, and feeding Max, when I thought to myself, where did he even come from?”  
  
“Who – Max?”  
  
“I mean, for the longest time, I’ve always known I have a son and I’ve always been the one taking care of him,” John continued. “But – for the life of me, I can’t remember who the mother was, and why she left – heck, I can’t even remember when we – did it. You’re supposed to remember those things, aren’t you?  
  
“But I just – couldn’t. I turned my apartment upside down, trying to look for pictures of this partner of mine, and perhaps pictures of her with Max – but nothing. I couldn’t find anything. In fact, there were scarcely any photos in my apartment! There were no photos of my parents, no photos of any holidays I might have taken when I was younger, no photos of my freaking graduation! I mean, alright – my Bachelor Degree was nicely framed up on the wall in my bedroom, but that was it – I could not, for the life of me, remember what it was like in those seven years in grad school. What I did, what classes I went to, which friends I hung out with, which subjects I might have failed – I don’t remember.  
  
“And I certainly don’t remember where my parents have gone to. Who could ever forget what happens to their parents? I mean – are they still alive? Are they retired and living off somewhere – and do I usually go visit them for Christmas? Or are they dead – and do I usually go to their graves? I – don’t – know – Clara. If they’re dead, I can’t even bloody remember where they were buried!”  
  
John stopped suddenly, when he felt Clara grabbed both of his hands. He looked down, and saw them shaking tremendously. He didn’t even realised he had been going on and on about the missing pieces in his life. He didn’t even realised they bothered him so much that he was already crying as he told Clara Oswald everything.  
  
John’s breathing was loud and frequent. He squeezed Clara’s hands in return, and felt the dormant part in him waking up – waking up and spreading.  
  
How could he have been so blind for so long? How could he have been living a half-life all this while without noticing anything weird about it? How could stories that were not possible in this world, in this lifetime, turn out to be true – while this reality, this really real life, turned out to be a farce? How could all things silly and impossible turned out to be real, and this mundane and normal life, a fake?  
  
“All my life, I’ve been living with these missing puzzle pieces, and I didn’t even care to notice them,” he said. “Now – Now that I’m seeing all these missing pieces… they scare me.”  
  
John looked straight into Clara’s eyes, and whispered: “I’m scared, Clara.”  
  
Clara reached out and cupped the side of John’s face, which he closed his eyes to and leaned into unknowingly.  
  
“What if you’re right?” He whispered achingly, tears flowing down his face uncontrollably. “What if – what if – Do you know how scary it is to think that Max might not even be my son?”  
  
“Hey, hey,” Clara tilted John’s head up and attempted a smile. “Whatever it is, Doctor, we’ll sort this out, alright?”  
  
“I don’t know who I am,” John mumbled. “I don’t even know who I am anymore…”  
  
And all Dr John Smith wanted was to ask Clara Oswald over for a nice and proper Christmas dinner next week, when he stopped by her apartment. He did not even know how things led to this, crying in front of a girl he barely knew.  
  
“You’re _my_ Doctor, Doctor,” Clara said with a comforting smile on her face as she pulled John into a tight embrace. “We’re going to find out how you got into this mess, and we’re going to get you out of it.”  
  
“I’ll have my Doctor back – I promise,” she whispered.

  

*

 

Clara made herself a nice cup of tea, and was all curled up in front of the fireplace in the living room, her legs drawn up against her chest, as she stole the warmth from her mug. Spread out in front of her on the coffee table were the letters The Doctor had written to her from Trenzalore. Clara had lost count how many times she had re-read those letters again and again, even more so these past few weeks, since she found out that she had lost The Doctor, even though he was still standing right in front of her.

It had definitely been a crazy month for her, since she “came back from her death”. Waking up in a hospital she initially thought was an extraterresterial laboratory of sorts, and finding The Doctor “not being himself”. Getting herself involved in rather irrelevant therapy sessions, where halfway through, she decided to just play along to Dr Foreman’s “strategy” and agree with her that whatever she had believed about this world and The Doctor were merely dreams – real vivid dreams that got her confused with the reality – only so she could get Dr Foreman off her back, and cut down on those ridiculous sessions. Coming home to find, to her surprise, that Matty’s cot was still in her bedroom where she last left it, but that her son was not around anymore. Crying herself to sleep for nights and nights, as the reality of Matty’s non-existence began to set in. And finally, only this morning, when The Doctor – or Dr John Smith, as he still called himself – dropped by and invited her to have Christmas dinner with him and his son next week, before collapsing in tears in front of her, confiding in her that his life might be a sham all along.

Something had happened. It had happened to Clara, and The Doctor. Seeing that The Doctor was the “victim” of these recent events, whatever they were, Clara was at a loss as to who to turn to, to get things sorted out. How did Clara even manage to come back to life after her death with the quantum shade? How did The Doctor end up with all his memories as a Time Lord erased, and himself put rather tardily into a human life with patches of his past missing? And above all – why?

Did Matty have anything to do with the reuniting of his parents? Was he the one responsible for messing with the fabric of time, just to save her? Was he the one responsible for fishing The Doctor out from wherever in time and space he was when he was fished out, and replaced with a normal human mind? Did it have everything to do with his own future, the one that would not exist if Clara and The Doctor do not get back together? But if so, why cut things so close? Couldn’t Matty have just sent Clara back to a time when The Doctor was, you know, The Doctor, instead of to a time and place when he had been led to believe that he was merely human and a medical doctor?

Clara tilted her head back, and heaved a heavy sigh into the air. Questions, so many questions she wished someone would answer for her. With The Doctor “not being himself”, where else could she find the answers to their current predicament?

_If only Matty were around…_ Clara thought as she took a sip of tea from the mug, staring blankly into the crackling fire in front of her.

Was he already gone, seeing that right at this moment, Clara and The Doctor were not really “together”? Had he been non-existent, since that sad day, when Clara found out The Doctor was not _her_ Doctor?

Clara cast a longing glance towards her bedroom, where the door was left opened, and she could see Matty’s cot. The darkness and the emptiness of the room struck like a knife through her heart. It was still hard to accept, or even believe, that Matty had never existed – that the nine months of her pregnancy, and the handful of moments she had spent with him were but another lifetime’s dream. It was as if Clara Oswald had never been pregnant, had never been a mother. It was as if that leaf that was Matty’s first page had never fallen on him that autumn day, and hence, he himself had ceased to exist.

Clara’s hands started shaking as the tears returned. She closed her eyes and looked away quickly, taking another sip of her tea to calm herself down before another breakdown broke loose.

When she felt the monster in her had laid back down and gone back to sleep, Clara opened her eyes slowly, and picked up one of The Doctor’s letters on the coffee table. All that was left to comfort her and console her now were his letters, nothing more. And perhaps, the dream she had of Matty during one of the first nights she was in the hospital, as a conscious human being instead of a comatose vegetable. More specifically, the first night of the many nights she would spend in the intensive care unit.

It was so real, Clara remembered. It was as if Matty had found a way to come to her that night, and sat by her bed, and comforted her with tender words and gentle kisses. Clara didn’t think much of the letter she wrote to Matty that was not on the desk when she woke up the next morning; the cleaning lady or Dr Foreman might have came in earlier that day and thrown the letter away. It was just a bit hard to believe that Matty could have taken the letter, if he was merely a dream, if he never could have existed right then in Clara’s timeline.

Clara learned not to believe in a lot of things anymore, since her return from the death, followed by the loss of her Doctor and her son.

But as things were, every cloud has a silver lining, and Clara saw the bursting sunlight behind the shrouding grey clouds when The Doctor came by her apartment earlier that day. They were devastating days, when Clara had to look straight into The Doctor’s eyes and saw reflections of disbelief and even fright, when all she was telling him was the truth. So, it was definitely a turn of events for Clara, when The Doctor showed up on her doorstep, and admitted to her that perhaps she was not wrong – that perhaps the life he had been living was not real.

It was heartbreaking, of course, to see The Doctor breaking down in front of her, weighed down by confusion and uncertainty. Breaking The Doctor was the last thing Clara wanted to do, really.

But at least now, they were both on the same page, and they could work together to resolve this – labyrinth, once and for all. And they could start by renewing their relationship, of sorts, over Christmas dinner next week, before delving into the nitty gritty questions that made up their present state in each other’s life.

Also, not to jump to conclusions or anything, in case Clara gets herself disappointed once again, but for some strange reason, since Dr John Smith first mentioned about his son, Max at the doorstep that morning, Clara had a strong feeling – a very strong maternal instinct kind of feeling, you could say – that perhaps Max was not his son’s name after all…


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The missing puzzle pieces of his life he never knew were gone in the first place, were now all in the right place, like they should be.

Dr John Smith had never felt this stressed out in his life, when it comes to preparing for a Christmas dinner. Well, not that he could remember much about the last few times he had prepared Christmas dinners to make proper comparisons, what with his patchy memory and all. For all he knew, he could be preparing Christmas dinner for the first time in his life. That would explain better why he was stressed out about it.  
  
On the days leading up to the Christmas dinner with Clara Oswald, John had ever so subtly gone around the hospital, asking more senior nurses if they had their own Christmas dinners planned, and from there, urged them to talk about their signature homemade recipes of roasted turkey and peach cobblers and fruitcake and mulled wine. Most of them were skeptical in sharing their family’s generations old recipe to a strange doctor, but John managed to get a handful of them excited enough to reveal the secret recipes.  
  
Not that obtaining those recipes were of much help to John; he suspected he had never cooked a proper meal in his entire life. Heating up leftovers in the microwave, and perhaps the simple pasta and sauce from the supermarket were pretty doable for John, but he did burnt the pre-made Bolognese sauce on the pan before, (he was exhausted from his day at the hospital that he had fallen asleep in front of the television set while waiting for the sauce to simmer).  
  
John was not aware of Max’s suspicions on the latest Christmas fruitcake that had just came out of the oven, looking rather burnt and smelling rather burnt.  
  
“You’ve ruined another fruitcake, daddy,” Max had told John through his baby talk. “Can’t you just get mom to do it? You’re terrible in the kitchen!”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry, Max,” John replied, as he took the cake out from the oven and placed it in the middle of the table, in front of Max. “That’s what a fruitcake looks like! Pretty exciting for your first Christmas, eh?”  
  
Just then, the fruitcake gave out an unexpected puff, and started collapsing in on itself. John stared at the disfigured cake with a frown, and Max could not help but burst out fits of giggles.  
  
“Oh, daddy – so silly!” Max gurgled between laughs.  
  
John must have started cooking the day before the Christmas dinner date – was it a date, though? John wouldn’t go that far to say it was a date, but then again, he did just invite someone he partially fancies to his home for Christmas… But anyway, 24 hours later and about five burnt pans and broken dishes in the sink, he finally admitted defeat, and rang up Dr David McDonald, whom John knew had hired caterers to handle his Christmas dinner with the family.  
  
“So, who’s the lucky girl?” David went straight to the point, when he got the call from John on helping with the dinner preparation by having some of the caterers over.  
  
“Why must there be a girl?” John replied, slightly flustered that he had to go through levels of interrogation to get what he wants from David, not that he wasn’t expecting it in the first place.  
  
“Oh – sorry,” David then went silent on the other end of the phone, before he asked: “Who’s the lucky guy then?”  
  
“No, it’s not like that!” John said through gritted teeth. “Can’t I – just have a nice dinner, prepped by professionals, for myself? It’s been a rough year, and I’d like to treat myself to something nice this Christmas, especially after all the terrible hazing I’ve gotten from you year long.”  
  
John had to remind himself that David did not know about Max either.  
  
“Oi, be careful what you say to me,” David warned over the phone. “I’m the only person standing in between you and a perfectly roasted turkey.”  
  
“Will you help me or not!” John almost shouted over the phone. Clara would be arriving in five hours.  
  
“Oooh, someone’s gone angsty,” David teased. “So, it’s a girl then?”  
  
John closed his eyes and breathed through his nostrils to calm himself down.  
  
“Fine, if that’s what will get you to say yes – yes, yes it’s a girl,” John threw his hands up in defeat. “I’m having Christmas dinner with a girl, and I need help with the turkey. So, can you please just –”  
  
“What’s her name?” David interrupted. He had barely started with the questioning! “Oh, don’t tell me – is that patient of yours, isn’t it?”  
  
“Wh-What?” John’s voice might have gone up to a higher pitch. “Who told you that? God, I hate the rumour mill in the hospital sometimes!”  
  
“Whoa, there’s no need for hate – it’s Christmas,” David replied. “Besides, I was just spitballing there, but glad you just came out and admitted it yourself!”  
  
John’s grip tightened around his cell phone, as David cackled away loudly on the other end. John wished sorely that they had done this conversation face to face, only just so John could land a good punch on David’s smirky face.  
  
“Will you get your caterers over now?” John fumed.  
  
It took David a while before he could settle down from his laughter, (someone might have started on the mulled wine a little earlier), before he finally agreed to help, said his caterers should be done within the hour, and they would head over to John’s when they had serve up the main course. David had even the decency to pass John the number of the person in charge, to further discuss the arrangement on their own.  
  
“Thank you – so much,” John said, half-grateful but half-seething.  
  
“Oi, John,” David said, just as John was about to hang up. “You going to get some stuffing done on your own too?”  
  
“Oh, piss off!” John yelled back at David’s laughter on the other end, and hung up.  
  
Yet, it was no time yet for John to take a breather. The caterers arrived about an hour and half late, and John had probably burned a trail across his living room floor by pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the doorbell went off. They had only two hours left to get everything ready, before John had to pay them and shoo them out of the door, before Clara arrives. It would be rather embarassing for a man of his stature to reveal that he had not, in fact, prepared his Christmas dinner himself. John was not ready to be this honest to Clara Oswald just yet.  
  
He was an hour in biting his nails, wringing his hands and peeking over the shoulders of the caterers as they tried hard not to knock into him and spill over the custard they had just made from scratch, before John realised that he had not gotten dressed for dinner! So, the remaining hour left till Clara arrives, John spent time working up a storm in his bedroom – quite literally, as the room looked like it had been hit by a tornado, with the insides of his wardrobe all spilled out onto his bed and the floor. He might have even lost Max for a bit, hidden under a pile of shirts, until the baby started crying – and then, unburying the baby from the pile, John noticed that Max too had not been dressed for the occasion!  
  
John hopped into the showers and scrubbed himself clean in record time, before emerging out of the bathroom to put on a nice crisp shirt and trousers, even managed to accessorise with his usual braces and bowtie, (although that took longer for him, as he had to decide which colours go best with which). Then, he had to feed Max real quick, practically shoving the bottle of milk down Max’s throat.  
  
“Steady on, daddy!” Max berated John in his baby language, before launching into a series of crying fit that seemed to go on forever.  
  
“Oh no no no no, Max – don’t do this to me right now,” John pled, as he carried Max in his arms and started bouncing him, in an attempt to calm him down and stop him from crying.  
  
It resulted in Max throwing up all over the back of John’s white shirt. The young doctor had to settle the baby down once again, and go through his pile of clothes for something that was colour coordinated with the braces and bowtie he had chosen earlier. However, in the end, he had to rethink the colours for both accessories again, because they did not seem to fit the sand brown shirt he had picked out.  
  
John had just gotten his ensemble right, when Max started crying again; his diapers needed changing. It was about the same time when the person in charge of the caterer poked his head through the door of the bedroom, and told John that they have got to get back to the McDonalds to get ready the dessert and cleaning up. The turkey was still roasting in the oven, and the fruitcake had not gone into the oven yet.  
  
“But you can’t leave now,” John was practically on his knees, begging for them to stay, when they had already packed up and were walking through the front door. “I don’t know how long the turkey needs to be in the oven! I burned five bloody fruitcakes yesterday!”  
  
John was about to chase them down the corridor, when they entered the elevator that had just reached his floor, and out came Clara. They both stood shocked at the opposite ends of the corridor for a moment, before Clara took the remaining steps until she was standing right in front of John.  
  
Clara gestured towards the elevator, where the caterers had just left in, and paused for a moment, trying to figure out if she got the right idea of things.  
  
“Was that – your caterers?” Clara asked finally.  
  
“N-No…” John hesitated, sticking his hands into his trouser pockets as he did a little frantic dance. “That was my – colleague’s caterers.”  
  
“And they were here to make your Christmas dinner?” She poked on, a smile starting to form on her face.  
  
“No!” John waved the question away as nonchalantly as he could muster at such a panicking time. “They were just – here to check if I got the turkey in the oven – and later, have the fruitcake in the oven – and not at the same time when the turkey is in the oven.”  
  
“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” Clara hid her pursed lips behind her hand.  
  
“What – Miss Oswald, I’m a certified medical doctor, of course I know –” John paused mid-sentence when Clara raised her eyebrows at him. “Fine, I burned five fruitcakes before I called for the caterers.”  
  
Clara tried to hold back a snigger. John just buried his face in his hands.  
  
“Let’s see what’s the damage, shall we?” Clara said, letting herself into the apartment unit, and walking straight into the kitchen.  
  
John followed suit, and peeked over Clara’s shoulder as she squinted at the turkey still roasting inside of the oven.  
  
“Do – do you think it’s done?” John asked.  
  
“Oh, Doctor,” Clara said, turning around to face him. “We’ll need a time machine to get this turkey cooked and ready for dinner.”  
  
“A what?”  
  
“But, I suppose, another two hours should do the trick too,” she added with a smile, and went on to check on the fruitcake, before chucking the entire thing into the brimming wastebin.  
  
“Forget the fruitcake,” Clara said, wiping her hands with the cloth lying nearest to her. “It’s going to take ages. We’re going to be eating till New Year’s Eve, and I don’t think I’m ready for such a commitment just yet.”  
  
John blushed, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.  
  
“I-I just thought –”  
  
“Thought what – I’m bringing the Queen of England over for dinner too?” Clara chuckled. “I was expecting a couple of mince pies with maybe some roast potatoes on the side.”  
  
Then, as if it were magic, or just the simple fact that John had been too unsettled to notice, Clara revealed from behind her a nicely wrapped Christmas pudding.  
  
“And perhaps a store bought dessert after that?” she added with a wink.  
  
“Yes, yes that would be – much better,” John laughed and bit his bottom lip.  
  
Clara settled the pudding on the kitchen counter, and closed the gap between her and John. John felt like his heart was just about to burst at such close proximity. He wished desperately that Clara could not hear the heavy beating of his heart in his chest, as she reached up and straightened his bowtie that had gone askewed without his knowledge.  
  
“Now,” she whispered to John, who had suddenly grown too shy to meet her gaze. “To settle the matter of the crying baby?”  
  
John kicked himself mentally, as Clara walked past him and towards his bedroom, where the crying was coming from. He had been so caught up with the caterers leaving, and with Clara arriving the second after that, that he had completely tuned out Max’s perpetual crying in the bedroom!  
  
_Well, that’s a nice start to the date – no wait, perhaps not a date!_ John thought begrudgingly. _Showing that you’re a car wreck in the kitchen, and now – an irresponsible father._  
  
John shuffled his way in much defeat towards his bedroom, and lo and behold – right in front of his eyes, he saw something that would take the very heart of him.  
  
Max had stopped crying. Not only that, Max was practically smiling and bouncing about gleefully in Clara’s arms. John didn’t think he had ever seen Max this happy before, not with him or with Amber, the two people that had until then been spending the most time taking care of Max. It made John smiled all the more.  
  
And Clara. Clara was holding onto Max so tightly, one hand resting at the back of Max’s tiny head as she laid long and affectionate kisses on his forehead and cheeks.  
  
“I thought I’m never going to see you again,” John thought he heard Clara whispered to Max.  
  
Max gurgled chirpily, as if in response to Clara, which in baby talk, he did, telling his mommy, “Mommy, you’re home! You’re home with daddy!”  
  
John knew that the picture he was seeing was not quite right. Max and Clara had never met before, yet seeing each other for the first time, they embraced as if Clara was the one who had been taking care of Max while John was off at work. It was as if a mother and her son had finally reunited, after a long period of separation.  
  
John knew he was supposed to feel uncomfortable about it, feel weird about it. Here was a totally strange woman, picking up his son and carrying him around as if he were her own. That has got to send off some psychotic signals in a father’s head. But despite the stranger’s meeting, John could not help feeling the most familiar and the most natural of things unfolding in front of his eyes. As if Clara was meant to be in his bedroom, coddling Max as if it’s her own son. As if Max was meant to look this happy, seeing Clara for the first time. Their intertwined bodies seemed to fit so perfectly like clay and mould.  
  
Clara looked over Max’s shoulder at John. Her eyes were shining, as she smiled lovingly at him, and buried half her face on the baby’s shoulder. Their eyes remained locked on each other’s, and for the first time that day, that Christmas day – and probably the many days before since he had started taking care of Max, as well as the many days to come now that Clara was in Max’s life – John heaved a heartfelt exhalation, and felt the weight of an entire world lifted off his chest.  
  
The missing puzzle pieces of his life he never knew were gone in the first place, were now all in the right place, like they should be.

 

*

 

Clara had prepared herself and John cups of tea, when he emerged from his bedroom, where he had put Matty to sleep at the end of the night, gently closing the door behind him. They stood looking at each other across the living room, John’s hands in his pockets, while Clara’s held the two mugs of tea. Almost in unison, they gave each other a polite tight-lipped smile, before walking towards the couch in the middle of the living area, and sat down next to each other.

Clara remembered last Christmas, when she had wished Danny Pink were still around, so that they could spend their first Christmas together, instead of merely in a dream concocted by the dream crabs. But more importantly, she had wished The Doctor and her could spend their last Christmas together, instead of being caught up in the 300-year long stalemate in Trenzalore, which eventually led to his regeneration.  
  
Suffice to say, her wish had come true, at least for The Doctor’s part – just not the way she had expected it to be. Clara had never wanted to spend her last Christmas with a 300-year-older Doctor, any more than she would with one that had no recollection of his past as a Time Lord. But, she supposed, beggars can’t be choosers; at least this Christmas, The Doctor was around, (although barely), and so was their son Matty, and they got together for a kind of Christmas that was more than what Clara could ask for, especially everything that she had been through the last month.  
  
John and Clara were quiet for a very long time in the living room, each taking turns to sip at their hot tea, and exchanging glances every once in a while.  
  
Finally, it was Clara who broke the ice.  
  
“Why did you call him Max?” Clara asked, facing John.  
  
“I don’t know,” John sighed and shrugged. “I’ve just always had the impression that he’s called Max – Maximus.”  
  
“Maximus?” Clara snorted a little into her tea. “What, like in ancient Rome?”  
  
“Yeah, I know it sounds silly,” he chuckled a little, and dipped his head. “But, I don’t know, the name is just – there, for some strange reason. Maximus The Great.”  
  
Clara bit her bottom lip and shook her head.  
  
The smile faded from John’s lips as he looked away and took a sip from his mug.  
  
“But he’s always been your son, isn’t he?” He asked quietly. “He’s always been – Matty.”  
  
This time, it was Clara’s turn to look away and lower her head.  
  
It wasn’t her intention, to make another parent felt like the child had never been his. It made Clara feel rather guilty too, to just show up on Christmas night, and reveal the impossible, and in some way, “steal” the child away from him. It was never her intention to make The Doctor, or anyone really, feel like the child had never been a part of his life. Clara knew all too well how that felt, and she never wanted anyone else to go through that – least of all, The Doctor, or even John Smith.  
  
“I don’t understand though,” Clara spoke up again when the awkward silence filled in. “How did he end up with you?”  
  
“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she added quickly. “It’s a good thing that Matty is not lost, or worse, non-existent, and that all this time, he’s got someone to look after him – most importantly, he’s got his dad to look after him. It’s like – he knows. But how?”  
  
John heaved a sigh and shrugged again.  
  
“Well, maybe there is someone else out there, looking out for Matty too,” he said. “Maybe that person knew something has happened to you – that you got into a coma, or that you, well, died – and found a way to send Matty to me. You know, to look after him while you’re gone.”  
  
But who could it be, Clara thought to herself, as she sipped on her tea. Could it be Matty himself, changing the course of his young life to save his future? Could it be Twelve, even though he did not know about Matty, and more recently, forgotten all about Clara – unless he had taken the liberty to open the last letter Clara wrote to The Doctor, and read all about it? Could it be the TARDIS even, seeing that she had information on Matty in her telepathic link archive from Clara, and the TARDIS could find her way to The Doctor in Trenzalore whenever she wants? Or – could it just simply be The Doctor himself, before the whole amnesiac episode hit, keeping Matty close by his side after knowing what happened to her?  
  
Or it could just be every one of the above working together in some strange cosmic way, to make sure that Matty would end up with The Doctor, after word went out that Clara had met her death with the raven.  
  
Every impossibility was possible at that point of time, when there were so many loopholes all around.  
  
“I’ve had dreams about you, Clara,” John spoke up this time, and snatched Clara out of her thoughts to look at him. “You and The Doctor – well, me, I suppose, in some way.”  
  
“Dreams?” Clara probed.  
  
“I mean, they’ve always kind of been there for the longest time, and some days, I can barely remember them when I wake up,” he continued, trying hard not to take his eyes off Clara. “But ever since you mentioned about your – adventures – with The Doctor, they just seem to strike a chord in me, and every dream I had from then on are more vivid, mainly because there seems to have something more tangible to latch on to this time – your testimony.”  
  
“That big burning planet you were talking about, the one that leeches off the memories and stories of the people living around it?” John asked.  
  
“The God of Akhaten?”  
  
“Some nights, I could still feel the heat of the planet burning on my face when I wake up,” John replied. “And the one over at Sweetville? Let me tell you, it’s no fun waking up thinking you’re hardened up all over, not being able to move.”  
  
Clara smiled at John. She could not help feeling glad in her heart, to know that The Doctor’s own memories were not completely lost in this person known as Dr John Smith. Somewhere inside him, albeit just subconsciously, The Doctor still lived.  
  
“You know, maybe I’ve always been in The Doctor, perhaps at a subconscious, dormant level,” John proceeded, putting down his cup of tea that had grown cold on the coffee table in front of them. “Like, when we were The Doctor, John Smith had always been at the back of his mind. Maybe somewhere along the line, we accidentally flipped ourselves – inside out, in a matter of speaking, and I as John Smith have taken over the conscious side, and The Doctor is now instead the subconscious, dormant side of us.”  
  
“So, maybe if we find out what was it that made the flip in the first place,” he concluded. “We could change things back to the way it was. The Doctor that you know of – conscious, while me, John Smith, will go back to being dormant at the back of his head.”  
  
“You would do that, erase your conscious existence, to bring The Doctor back?” Clara asked.  
  
“Well, I won’t be totally erased,” John smiled. “I’ll still be there, at the corner of The Doctor’s mind. Just not – existing in real life, that’s all.”  
  
John reached out and held Clara’s hand. It made her tensed up for a moment, feeling that familiar touch once again so suddenly, but almost immediately, she relaxed and took in the touch by holding The Doctor’s hand in return.  
  
“I know how important it is that The Doctor you know of exists in your life again, Clara Oswald,” John whispered. “And I know now how important it is that Matty has you back in his life – with The Doctor. So, let’s just call a spade, a spade, and I just move out of the way and let this family get back together, eh?”  
  
“Don’t say that, Doctor,” Clara said, her hand reaching up quickly to cup John’s face. “Don’t talk as if you’re not a part of this family – you are. You _are_ The Doctor. You have always been The Doctor.”  
  
“How can you be so sure?” He asked.  
  
“I’m the only one who can be this sure,” Clara smiled, gazing into The Doctor’s greenish blue eyes.  
  
“I can see why The Doctor loves you,” he said, and made Clara blush a little. John squeezed Clara’s hand, and smiled back at her.  
  
“Besides, we can’t know for sure yet if there really is something out there that flipped you – inside out,” Clara said, as she untwined her hands from John’s, and grabbed the mug she had put down for a sip of her cold tea. “The truth is, I don’t know what’s happened to you, or to me – to us.”  
  
“Frankly, I don’t even know where to begin to look for answers,” she continued after the sip of tea. “Usually, The Doctor is the one who knows what to do, or where to go, or who to ask for answers – and then solving problems with his sonic screwdriver. I’ve always just been along for the ride.”  
  
Clara cast a sidelong glance at John, and noticed that he had gotten to look a little disappointed that Clara did not know the answers as well, and they were still stuck in square one.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Clara said softly. “I know the reason you invited me over for Christmas dinner is because you’d like some answers to your current predicament. I’m sorry I can’t help.”  
  
But John looked back at her with an encouraging smile playing on his lips.  
  
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “It was still a rather delicious Christmas meal, if I do say so myself.”  
  
Clara laughed, and nodded. The turkey did turn out rather nicely – juicy on the inside, and crispy on the skin, and they did not need to put the bird through vortex cooking to get it done right either this time!  
  
“And it’s never a bad thing for Matty to finally get back with his mom,” John added.  
  
With that, Clara threw a comforted glance over her shoulder towards the closed door, where behind it, Matty was already sound asleep from the night’s exciting adventure.  
  
“What’s he like, The Doctor?” John asked, bringing Clara’s attention back to him. “I mean, do I even look like him?”  
  
“It’s like looking at his reflection, right down to the bowtie and braces,” Clara said with a smile. “You are everything that The Doctor is, except maybe his Time Lord mind. If you ask me, that’s not such a bad thing, having just a normal human mind.”  
  
“During my days with him, The Doctor looked worse and worse for wear as the days go by,” she added, the smile faded. “He always seemed so – troubled, worried that every time he opens the door of the TARDIS, some ghost from his long forgotten past would just jump at him. That’s the downside of being a Time Lord, I suppose, living for more than a thousand years. You can barely stay awake without something from the past haunting you, chasing after you.”  
  
“So, maybe it’s alright, for him to have a normal human mind for once,” Clara said, looking back up at John. “You do look as young as your age suggests, and in your eyes, there doesn’t live an old soul.”  
  
“Only patches of grey areas I can’t seem to remember, or even believe that they even exist,” John attempted to joke.  
  
“Is that such a bad thing?” Clara shrugged. “Maybe it’s a good thing we forget some things in life. Maybe it’s a good thing that our mind reacts to memories that could potentially cripple us too much, block them out when all they’re good for is hurting us.”  
  
“Isn’t that a form of denial?”  
  
“Well, maybe it’s a necessary form of denial.”  
  
“It’s not always a good thing to know everything, Doctor,” she added, and reached out again to hold John’s hand. “Saves you from the heartaches you might not know you’re in danger of.”  
  
Clara felt John’s hand shaking a little as he attempted a timid squeeze back at hers, his thumb moving hesitantly up and down her skin. Her heartbeat picked up speed, as she looked on the caress, and a lump slowly formed in her throat.  
  
“Wh-What about The Doctor’s feelings for you?” John asked, his voice coming out a little squeakier than usual. “Do you think it’s still there, somewhere inside, lying dormant? Or is it one of those blocked out – necessary form of denial?”  
  
Clara’s breaths were shallow, as she lifted her gaze slowly back up at The Doctor, who was already looking rather intently back at her, his entire body already grown tensed. Clara could not be sure, but it felt like their faces were already inching towards each other, and she could already feel The Doctor’s detached exhales on her cheeks.  
  
“Well,” Clara swallowed hard, her words coming out in bare whispers. “There’s only one way to find out.”  
  
John leaned in, and Clara’s eyes fluttered close. Their lips trembled as they made contact, and Clara could feel her heavily beating heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach. She recognised the kiss, as if the first had just happened yesterday, as if it was just yesterday The Doctor had materialised in her bedroom all the way from Trenzalore, and held her tightly in his arms as he kissed her.  
  
Clara’s hands moved up to John’s face, and deepened the kiss. John’s arms slithered around Clara’s tiny waist, and pulled her closer to his body. She heard him whimpered like a kitten, as he tilted his head a little to the right for a better angle. Clara probed open John’s mouth a little and their tongues touched delicately, sending shivers down her spine.  
  
John broke the kiss for a moment to catch his breath, and gasped: “Wow.”  
  
It was exactly what Clara was thinking, as they delved back in for another long-awaited and passionate kiss.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old Gallifreyan language, going round and round above their heads as The Doctor set the TARDIS in motion for their next adventure, were the similar designs on this fob watch she was holding right then.

On Boxing Day morning, Dr John Smith woke up on his living room couch, with a throw blanket draped over his form. His eyes fluttered open to the sunlight streaming in from the window across the room, and his ears perked up to the faint voice coming from his bedroom behind him. He snuggled deeper into the covers, his long legs drawn up to his chest, as he remained lying on the couch still dressed in last night’s crumpled clothes, listening in on Clara Oswald telling stories to baby Matty.  
  
Clara was telling Matty one of her many adventures with The Doctor, the current one. It was the one about a heist she had taken part in with Twelve at the Bank of Karabraxos, where they had to go through many levels of security system to get to the designated vault buried deep in the heart of the bank. One of its security measures was the Teller, a highly telepathic alien that could sense your criminal mind as soon as you step into the bank.  
  
Not a peep came from Matty that morning, as Clara re-enacted her account to her son, and neither did John made a sound or any moves, as he too were engrossed in Clara’s rather spectacular storytelling. It wasn’t until Clara had finished her story, and was carrying Matty out of the bedroom for his 12PM feeding, when John finally got up from the sofa, his tussled hair sticking out all over the place.  
  
“Look who’s finally woken up, Matty?” Clara said to the baby with a smile on her face. “Someone’s been up all night partying, eh?”  
  
John smiled shyly and scratched the back of his head, as he followed Clara and Matty into the kitchen, where a bottle of boiled milk was left to cool down on the counter.  
  
“I thought you might have left already,” John said, as he took a seat at the counter, and watched Clara fed Matty.  
  
“Not a chance,” Clara replied. “Who’s going to take care of Matty while you’re snoring away on the sofa there?”  
  
“Was I really snoring?” John asked, slightly abashed.  
  
“Really,” Clara looked up from Matty suckling hungrily from the milk bottle and threw John a sly smile. “Well, slightly really.”  
  
John gave out a short laugh.  
  
They both watched Matty quietly, as he proceeded to finish up his milk in less than five minutes, the bottle still warm to the touch when he gulped down every last drop. It wasn’t long before the awkward silence grew, and Clara and John wondered who should go first, addressing what had happened last night, and how they should even go about addressing the issue.  
  
“Is this weird for you?” Clara finally asked, breaking the ice once again, as she settled Matty down on his high chair next to John, and herself, took the seat next to him at the counter. “I mean, barely a month ago, it was just you and – Max. Christmas morning after, some strange lady, who has been telling you your life is but a lie for the past month, mind – is telling you that she’s the mother, and Max is not Max, but Matty instead.”  
  
“To some extent,” John chuckled, his hand idling about with the coaster near him. “But I suppose, it might have been weirder if I wasn’t convinced that my life is but an echo of someone else’s.”  
  
Clara smiled.  
  
They both looked at Matty when he gave out an affectionate cooing towards his parents, now finally together with him, saying in his own baby language: “Mommy and daddy – home with me.”  
  
“What about you?” John asked. “Isn’t this weird for you? I could very much be just a stranger, pretending to be _your_ Doctor, and you know – holding your son hostage all this while.”  
  
Clara gave out a quiet giggle, and reached out to hold his hand.  
  
“Trust me,” she said with a slight wink. “You’re not a stranger. At least not from last night.”  
  
Events from the night before flooded John’s mind at one go, and he could not help smiling from ear to ear, dipping his blushing face as he gave Clara’s hand a squeeze. His heart was bursting like never before, as he took both their hands to his lips, and laid a kiss on Clara’s.  
  
“There were missing puzzle pieces in my life before,” John whispered against her skin. “You seem to put most of them in place when you kissed me last night.”  
  
He held onto Clara’s hand with both of his, and closed his eyes as he breathed her in. He heard her sighed, as her other hand reached out to cup the side of his face.  
  
Matty let out a gleeful gurgle, saying: “Oh, mommy and daddy – so silly!”  
  
“And I think Matty agreed too,” John said with a laugh, looking up at Clara, and then winking at Matty, who bounced happily on his high chair.  
  
John gave Clara’s hand another squeeze, bringing her attention back to him, as he said with a huge smile plastered on his face: “Let’s go for a ride.”  
  
“A ride?” Clara repeated, slightly amused.  
  
“It’s a beautiful day outside,” John said, gesturing towards the sunny day beyond the window. “I know a quiet park just outside of the city, where we can just enjoy the good weather for a bit.”  
  
There wasn’t much of a protest from Clara or even Matty, as they dressed the baby up with enough clothing for the winter weather outside. Grabbing two and a half sets of helmets and riding goggles on their way out, John led the way practically running down to his motorbike, parked at the ground level.  
  
John made sure Matty was properly and securely strapped to his and Clara’s waist, and sat safely wedged in between the parents on the motorbike, before he kick started the engine, and went roaring down the almost empty streets of London the morning after Christmas.  
  
They zipped through the city to Southeast London, where Danson Park was located between the suburbs of Welling and Bexleyheath. There, they took their first walk together as a proper family, through the many hectares of the park, partially covered in white powdered snow – John pushing the baby trolley where inside, Matty was all bundled up to the nose, hands outstretched towards the snow, and Clara with her arm linked with John’s.  
  
They stood marvelling at the majestic Danson House, greeted the few passers by “Merry Christmas”. John swung Matty about in circles, making him laugh and laugh and laugh, lightheaded with joy. He carried the baby on his shoulders, as they chased after Clara, who was pretending to be running away from them. They sat down at one of the benches by the lake at the far corner of the park, and helped Matty spot ducks hidden in snuggled up balls under the low hanging trees, keeping their waddles off the cold, cold water. John bounced Matty on his lap, and Clara make faces at him to keep him giggling.  
  
After that, they sort of just piled on top of one another – Matty dosing off on John’s chest, as Clara snuggled closer to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his, and resting her head on his shoulder, and John’s head on hers.  
  
It was then that John thought to himself that this had got to be the best Christmas so far. He could not remember the other Christmases to make the comparison, but nevertheless, none of them had Matty and Clara by his side, and Christmas was never known to be incomplete, until something as complete as – this, showed up on his doorstep.

 

*

 

Clara found The Doctor’s fob watch tucked away amidst his messy dresser top that Christmas morning after. She had woken up before John, both lying underneath the blanket on the sofa, his body wrapped around her smaller form from the back like an extra blanket for the cold winter. She had remained in that position for a long while that morning, pressed up against John’s warm body, holding his larger hands in hers close to her lips. She could not help smiling that morning – it had been the best Christmas for her.

Clara managed to wriggle herself free from John’s embrace, didn’t even wake him up, and just had him switch to a more comfortable position on the sofa unconsciously, as he stretched out his long form to take up the entire length of the furniture. She had sat by the armrest for another while longer, staring down at him lovingly as she brushed aside the lock of hair on his face. It wasn’t long before she heard Matty cooing from the cot in his bedroom, and she had pressed a quiet kiss on his forehead, before going into the room to check on her baby – their baby.  
  
Clara had carried Matty out of the cot, showering him with many, many kisses for the seemingly many, many days he had been away from her. She had brought Matty to the window, where they could see the snow from the night before that had settled, and all was white and beautiful.  
  
It was about that time, when Clara decided to tell Matty the story of last Christmas, when she had gotten stuck in layers and layers of dreams, not knowing which was reality, and which was a dream. But not before she caught a glimmering trinket lying buried beneath John’s pile of many other trinkets on the dresser top. She had pulled it out, and was immediately captivated by the design on the fob watch.  
  
She recognised the design. She had seen them before. Whenever she looked up at the rotund on the TARDIS ceiling. The old Gallifreyan language, going round and round above their heads as The Doctor set the TARDIS in motion for their next adventure, were the similar designs on this fob watch she was holding right then.  
  
Clara had wanted to ask John about how he came to possess this fob watch, but upon seeing The Doctor sitting up at the sofa, his hair stuck uppy all over the place, looking back at her and Matty, her heart grew full once again, and words just lost themselves in her.  
  
It wasn’t until after their morning visit to Danson Park, and John had ridden them back to her apartment on his motorbike that she had felt the fob watch in her jacket pocket, when she was looking for her house keys.  
  
Clara sat in her bedroom, staring at the watch and wondering what it could be, as John laid Matty down for a nap in his cot, which Clara had moved back to the nursery but a few weeks ago, (those nights lying awake and thinking that Matty was non-existent in this life made the presence of the cot in her room a little too much to bear).  
  
“What’s that?” Clara looked up from her hands, and saw John walked in to sit down beside her on her bed.  
  
“I found this in your bedroom this morning,” Clara said, holding the fob watch out to John. “Kind of forgotten about it until just now.”  
  
John took the watch from Clara, and examined it with furrowed brows, flipping it front to back, back to front. He even brought it up to his ear to listen, but there were no ticking sound. The fob watch was not working.  
  
“I don’t even remember owning a fob watch in my life,” he said. “Do you think it’s…”  
  
“Maybe,” Clara nodded. She felt the Gallifreyan inscriptions under her fingers. “I recognise these inscriptions. They were on The Doctor’s TARDIS, and even on the cot I believe was his that I found in a storage room in the TARDIS.”  
  
“The what?” John chuckled and looked at Clara with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“Oh – right, you don’t remember,” Clara laughed a little. “Erm, it’s The Doctor’s – well, _your_ time travelling spaceship. It looks like any blue police box from the ‘60s – I think, but it’s bigger on the inside.”  
  
“Bigger on the – right…” John still seemed amused. “That’s – interesting. But why is it called a – TARDIS?”  
  
Clara thought for a moment.  
  
“I have no idea,” Clara finally said. “Wow – I’ve been travelling around in the TARDIS, with two Doctors and on my own, might I add, and I don’t know – or most probably, forgotten – why it is called the TARDIS.”  
  
“Well, maybe you can ask me about that when we, you know, flip me over,” John said, gazing down at the fob watch for a moment before continuing. “Do you think this will do the trick?”  
  
“Could be,” Clara shrugged. “I mean, it’s the only thing in your apartment that resembles something of The Doctor’s past life. Do you even remember how you got it?”  
  
John shook his head.  
  
“Then, it’s most probably it,” she added with a slight chuckle.  
  
John looked up at Clara again and smiled.  
  
Oh, how Clara’s heart drummed in her chest as she looked at the dimpled smile. How she had missed that smile!  
  
She looked down at her knees, hiding her blushing face, as she felt John’s body leaning closer to hers, his left arm already pressing against her right one. Then, she straightened herself up, cleared her throat, as she reached down under her bed, to pull out a neatly wrapped Christmas present she had just remembered. She was supposed to bring it over to John’s during Christmas dinner the night before, but it slipped her mind, what with the panicky fretting on what best to wear to The Doctor’s Christmas dinner getting in the way and all.  
  
“Erm – Merry Christmas!” Clara practically shoved the present onto John’s lap. “Forgotten all about it yesterday.”  
  
“They’re actually letters you’ve – well, The Doctor – written to me when he was away in this planet called Trenzalore,” Clara explained, as John looked down at the present a bit awkwardly. “He’s been writing them for maybe a year or so, but didn’t have the guts to send them to me, until Twelve, the other Doctor – long story – got them over to me last Christmas.”  
  
“I don’t know – maybe, they might jolt some memories in your head or something,” she added with a shrug.  
  
“Yeah, might help – thanks,” John said. “But I didn’t get you anything!”  
  
Clara just waved him off, and stuck her hands under her legs.  
  
“This is probably going to sound cheesy to you but,” she gulped. “Having to finally spend a proper Christmas with you – after everything we’ve been through – that’s a good enough present for me.”  
  
“That – does sound cheesy,” John tried to hold back his laughter. Clara punched John’s arm playfully, as she lowered her reddened face.  
  
John surprised Clara by dipping his head too for his lips to find hers. She practically stopped breathing throughout the duration of the kiss, and pretty much welcomed new breaths into her lungs when John pulled away, and tugged at the ribbon on the present stiffly.  
  
“Well, I – uh – better go and get started on the letters,” John clapped the Christmas present twice, and jumped up from Clara’s bed. His face too was starting to burn red, as he mumbled his goodbyes and started for the door.  
  
“Oi!” Clara called out to John, leaping up from the bed herself and resting her hands on her hips. John stopped dead in his tracks. “I thought we were just getting acquainted.”  
  
John turned around slowly, and a smile crept back on his face.  
  
Clara smiled slyly in return, and crooked her fingers at John.  
  
John set the present down on the floor, and walked back towards Clara, letting her close the gap completely between them as she pulled at his braces until his body was aligned against hers.  
  
“Those were the days,” John whispered.  
  
Clara tiptoed a little, and John lowered his head slightly. Their lips locked for a hearty kiss.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was beginning to worry about John for when the day might come when he would have to step aside and let the “real” love of Clara’s life come back.

And so it came to be, that Clara and The Doctor, (a.k.a Dr John Smith), started a life of their own together with their son, Matty. The English teacher from Coal Hill Secondary School was dating the neurology doctor from Royal London Hospital, and each of them got their fair share of teasing from their respective colleagues (and students) about it.  
  
Whenever John would come around after his shift to pick up Clara after school, the students would hang about, the girls partially to salivate over how stunning their teacher’s boyfriend was, while the rest just made kissy noises at Clara as she ran through the corridors, and zoomed off with John on the motorbike.  
  
Now that word had gotten out that Dr John Smith was seeing a teacher from a school in Shoreditch, the interning nurses would pine over him longingly on the sideline, sighing out loud to one another as he rushed off to fetch Clara the moment his shift was over, wishing sorely that they were the ones riding into the sunset with him. Dr David McDonald, of course, made the most of this piece of news. He never wasted a second with John in the staff locker room, always poking fun at his colleague on what he and Clara had been up to over the weekends, and even went as far as making slightly obscene gestures whenever he passed by John at the corridors, knowing that they would make John’s face go bright red.  
  
Clara and John took turns on alternate weeks, staying over at each other’s apartments, but that too eventually got a bit redundant as their relationship grew. Finally, John moved in with Clara to cut down on their rental expenses, and Matty didn’t have to get used to two different sets of homes and cots growing up. There was the question on whether they should keep both nannies, or just settle on one, but it wasn’t much of a debate when Amber confronted John about quitting as she needed to focus on her final year in University. (It could also be that Amber was heartbroken when John introduced Clara to her, and knew that she would have no change of getting together with the doctor, now that the pseudo ex-girlfriend-slash-companion is back in the doctor’s life).  
  
Life became rather normal finally for Clara and The Doctor. For once, they need not decide on which time and space dimension they should run off to next, and what aliens they would be facing once they stepped through the front door of the TARDIS. But rather, decide on what to have for dinner that particular night, and which television show to pore over with the DVDs, and whether or not Sainsbury’s offer on mutton chops were indeed better than those at Tesco.  
  
Which was quite alright for Clara, to be honest. After her last ruthless stunt with Twelve, which had led her to her death – literally, Clara had pretty much gotten things out of her system, and would not mind cosing up in bed with The Doctor on Saturday mornings, or just deciding on how they should balance their groceries while riding on a motorbike home.  
  
On weekends, they would still run off to Danson Park, where they spent their first proper family outing together. As the seasons changed, and spring started to blossom about, Matty started to learn how to walk. The parents would spend countless hours at the park, making him walk from one end to the other, before settling down at the tea room of the dignified Danson House to enjoy a spot of tea and cakes.  
  
Clara never got over calling John “The Doctor”, and John never minded her doing so either; politically speaking, John was, after all, _a_ doctor, just not _the_ doctor Clara was referring to. Besides, John had taken a liking to that name, as if it were Clara’s own pet name for him.  
  
Yes, life was pretty much a happily ever after for Clara and The Doctor.  
  
But alas, John would still have dreams of his past life, adventures that he had never been on. More recently, he would dream of the time when The Doctor regenerated in the planet Trenzalore, after defeating the Daleks. Unlike The Doctor, who would feel like he had just had a momentary black out, and wake up a brand new person, John, a proper human, (or at least, a Time Lord genetically modified to be one), would instead feel like he had died in his dream – over and over again.  
  
John would always sit up from the bed when the last breath left his body, drenched in sweat and his one heart beating furiously inside his ribcage. Quietly, every night, he would slip out of bed, and sit in the living room with the fob watch in his hand, flipping front to back and back to front, as his mind wandered farther and farther away.  
  
Despite the fact that Clara and he had settled down into this normal and mundane life, John would still often wondered about The Doctor’s past life, and if someday, his subconciousness of The Doctor would wake up and flip him inside out, leaving him dormant inside of his own body once again. Especially now, after spending wonderful days with Clara and Matty, if it were to happen suddenly, John was not sure anymore if he would want to leave. He was not sure if he would want The Doctor to take charge once again. Suddenly, it felt like he would certainly be erased from this lifeline, instead of just tucked away in the back corner of The Doctor’s mind.  
  
Of course, John did not breathe a single word of it to Clara, even though she had known about John’s nightmares for the longest time. It seemed as if she had been woken up as well since the very beginning, every time John jolted himself out of his dreams, crept out of the bedroom quieter than a church mouse, and sat in the living room for hours, staring down at the fob watch with the Gallifreyan inscriptions.  
  
Clara had always known what was running through John’s mind, as she peeked out from the bedroom door, watching every wee hour of the night passed by with him. She had always known that John had now a change of heart, and that he might not be so nonchalant anymore about The Doctor taking over his life, and living his perfect life with Clara. And Clara too was beginning to feel sorry for John that sometimes, she would pretend he were the real Doctor, and would go off in a frenzy about some past adventures they had been together. But more importantly, she was beginning to worry about John for when the day might come when he would have to step aside and let the “real” love of Clara’s life come back.  
  
She started to wonder herself, if it really was that important whether the person coming to pick her up from school every evening, spending time bickering with her about groceries, and taking care of Matty when she was overwhelmed with markings – was The Doctor, and not John Smith.  
  
Neither of them brought up the things that had been bothering them in the middle of the night, and they managed to get through days with those problems stuffed at the back of their minds, afraid that if they were to even breathe a word of it, they would open up a can of worms that they might not be able to put back in.  
  
And just like that, spring went, and summer came, before finally, the leaves started to change around them, and they got to celebrate Matty’s first birthday at the end of September. It was that night as well, after the birthday party was over, and their guests from Coal Hill Secondary and Royal London Hospital had gone home, and Matty was tucked into bed all smiles on his face, when John woke up again in the middle of the night with the same regeneration dream.  
  
And it was that night, while sitting up again in the dark living room, staring off at the fob watch and worrying himself of something that might just fall on his head and knock him out of life entirely, when he heard a peculiar wheezing noise coming from the outside. It came up soft at first, before finally taking its undeniable and distinguishable sound.  
  
John had stepped towards the window to see a small tornado whipping up the fallen autumn leaves on the ground. Right in front of his unblinking eyes, it materialised, just right beside his motorbike parked at the ground level of Clara’s apartment.  
  
The blue police box from the ‘60s that Clara had briefly mentioned to him about. The call box that was bigger on the inside. The box, for reasons unbeknownst to her, that was called the TARDIS.  
  
Whilst it was the first time John was seeing the TARDIS, he had a strange feeling that the blue box was glad to see him peeking out from the living room window down at her, and in return, John felt in him, a tiny part of him was also glad to see his trusty spaceship that he had not seen for a very, very long time.  
  
The TARDIS had finally come home to The Doctor, and he was already trudging down the stairway two steps at a time towards her.

 

*

 

John remembered vaguely the first time he stepped into the TARDIS, after he had regenerated and proved to the Universe that he was The Doctor. The TARDIS had given him a new key to the door of the blue box, and he had ran all the way back to Amelia Pond’s home garden, where he had last left the TARDIS, and where the TARDIS had last left him outside, not really comfortable with letting him back in – especially after he crash landed her back on Earth the first time he drove the TARDIS.

It felt very much the same like the first time, when John re-entered the TARDIS that night, and took in all that was to take in at that first look about the bigger-on-the-inside interior. Breathless, and unknowingly to him, he said the first thing that popped into his head, which was the same thing back then: “Oh, you sexy thing.”  
  
John could not believe his eyes. Everything around him did not seem possible, yet there they were. Like how Clara Oswald and Matty were so impossible to exist in his life, yet there they were.  
  
His steps were careful and slow, as he crossed the bridge into the control centre. He gazed up at the ceiling, where the rotund with the Gallifreyan inscriptions were, the very same ones that were engraved on the fob watch he was then gripping tightly in his pocket. John looked back down at the control panels with the blinking lights and the polished levers, and found himself thinking of another model from a time long past – one with a typewriter for a keyboard and printer, an old television set as a screen display, and buttons, so many buttons that go red, green, blue and some even go _‘ding!’_ when he presses on them. John had seen it all in his dreams.  
  
John ran his hand across the panel, and thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen on this good Earth – and he smiled.  
  
How was it even possible to feel at home, inside something that he had just set foot in? It was simply impossible, yet John could not help feeling like he had been away – far, far away for a very, very long time, and it wasn’t the bed in his old apartment that made him feel like coming home, but this peculiar police box that had shown up out of nowhere, with its expanded interior and fancy control system.  
  
John smiled, and looked up at the console.  
  
“Hello, ol’ girl,” he found himself saying. The lights on the rotund went a bit silly for a moment, as if it was the TARDIS saying hello back at John – at The Doctor.  
  
Then, the many noises of the TARDIS seemed to have quieted down, and John could hear approaching footsteps echoing off the wide walls of the TARDIS. He looked up, and saw a young man appeared from behind the bookshelves on the secondary level, walking down the stairs on the other side, towards him.  
  
John’s breath was caught in his throat. It was practically a stranger walking towards him, and he could very much be dangerous to John. Yet, John felt like this stranger was the last person on Earth he should be scared of. John felt like he knew the other man, a young man. In fact, he could see resemblance of himself in the other person: the greenish blue eyes, the tussled hair, and other facial features that reminded John a lot of Clara Oswald.  
  
The man walked until he was standing but a few feet away from John, and he smiled that dimpled smile that belonged to his mother.  
  
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” John managed to say with an uncontrollable grin on his face.  
  
“Hello, father,” the young man’s smile widened. “You haven’t aged a day.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s your turn now,” Twelve said, his voice barely a whisper.

The TARDIS remembered all of The Doctors’ faces when they stepped inside their own versions of her for the first time. How their eyes lit up at the different sights of her. How their mouths blubbered like a fish out of water, not quite sure what should their first words inside the TARDIS be. How their different hands ran across her console, and how each time, like the first time, they would think she was the most beautiful thing in the universe. All 12 – or 13 times – it was love at first sight between The Doctor and the TARDIS.  
  
It was no different for Matty, when he first stepped inside the TARDIS, with his father’s bright greenish blue eyes, his own hands running through the buttons and the levers, and his mother’s gaping mouth as it fumbled with the words: “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in the whole wide world.”  
  
The TARDIS remembered the day well, the day when she returned to Matty on his 18th birthday. She had her coordinates locked on to the Oswald-Smith household, much like how she would in years to come. She had been keeping watch of Matty, much like how she had been in the years leading up to this one, since the day the TARDIS had safely deployed Matty and The Doctor down to Earth, following the latter’s Chameleon Arch procedure.  
  
Matty’s parents had a party planned for him later that day, and Clara was already bustling about in the kitchen, while Matty was locked up in his room, fantasising about the birthday presents he would be getting when the guests arrive. When he heard the familiar whizzing noise of the TARDIS, he sat up straight immediately on his bed, and threw himself towards the window.  
  
Throughout the years, Matty had learned much about the TARDIS, through his mother’s successful series of children’s books, now lined on the bookshelf above his bed. He was only three when Clara started _The Majestic Tales of The Mad Man with a Box_ , and Matty had been an instant fan of the books, having already heard many of the stories before bedtime since he was a baby. The TARDIS was no stranger to Matty, and Matty was no stranger to her.  
  
When the TARDIS completed her materialisation outside of the Oswald-Smith apartment, Matty felt like he had already received the best birthday present for the year. He ran all the way to the TARDIS, so excited that he had forgotten to tell his mother that he was popping out. He was breathless when he came face-to-face with the blue box, and when the front door opened for him, he stepped in as if running into a warm embrace of an old friend.  
  
In that version of Matty’s life, Clara Oswald and Dr John Smith never saw him again for many years, and was often worried about his whereabouts, even though Clara had caught sight of the TARDIS de-materialising outside of their apartment, and knew with all her heart that her son was with the TARDIS now.  
  
In that version of reality, Clara Oswald and Dr John Smith often had wished they had gotten the chance to say goodbye to their son, before he ran off with a time machine to the many more adventures that would fill the everlasting saga of _The Majestic Tales of The Mad Man with a Box_.  
  
Matty never quite knew where the TARDIS was bringing him on their first adventure together, but he was all too enthusiastic about everything that he didn’t care at all. The TARDIS could bring him all the way to the end of the universe, for all he cared!  
  
In the end, when the TARDIS finally landed in their pre-determined destination, Matty had stepped out of the blue box and into Trenzalore – the planet his father had spent many, many years defending the town called Christmas, from the many, many aliens that rained down on the village almost every other day, in order to stop the Time Lords from crossing over to their world and potentially declaring war; the planet Matty himself had spent his first few good days being alive with his father, tucked away in the basement of the clock tower in the centre of the town, where they had many conversations together.  
  
When Matty came walking into the town of Christmas, the first few villagers that caught sight of him immediately ran away towards the clock tower, shouting over and over again: “He’s here! He’s here!”  
  
It was right at the steps leading into the clock tower, where the entire town had congregated to see Matty, whom had apparently been expected for a long, long time, that Matty finally saw an old familiar face that was stored at the back of his memories, and would always be reminded of when a few books from _The Majestic Tales of The Mad Man with a Box_ mentioned of him.  
  
If Matty had remembered him to be an old man, he was even older standing right in front of him then. Yet, the man still held himself together well, albeit upon a walking stick, much like how his father had done in another version of his life, when The Doctor stayed for Christmas for 300 years.  
  
Matty had walked up to the top of the steps, and stood face-to-face with The Doctor – Twelve. He would always remember the tired and ancient lines that creased this other Doctor’s face, as Twelve found the energy to say to him: “Well, took you long enough!”  
  
Matty and Twelve had retreated down to the basement of the clock tower, and it was in that little room, Twelve told Matty everything that he needed to know about The Doctor, in general, and The Doctor, his father. Matty listened to all the stories attentively, as if he were a baby again cradled in his mother’s arms, as she told stories about The Doctor to him.  
  
When Twelve was finished, Matty helped him get up from his chair, and walked towards the glowing crack on the wall. Twelve placed his slightly trembling right hand on the crack, and streams of light came spilling out, and flowed seamlessly into Twelve’s hand, which by then was glowing in the same light too.  
  
Then, Twelve clasped the hand with Matty’s, and held onto the boy’s hand tightly. Matty watched, stunned, as the light flowed into his bloodstream.  
  
He looked up at The Doctor, and saw him smiling at him.  
  
“It’s your turn now,” Twelve said, his voice barely a whisper.  
  
Then, he asked Matty to help him towards his little bed at the far corner of the basement, away from the bright cracked wall. There, Twelve slept as if he had never slept for over 2,000 years –and he never woke up again.  
  
Matty had stayed on in the village for a few more days, if only to see to Twelve’s funeral, where he was buried on top of a hill outside of the town of Christmas, and everyone in the village had came to pay their respect. The Doctor had defended the town of Christmas, and knowing that the village and the planet would come to harm no more, only then did he allow himself to close his eyes and let sleep take him forever.  
  
On his final days, Twelve had told Matty, he had spent most of his time in the TARDIS, having conversations with himself – when actually, he was talking to the TARDIS. The Doctor had always known that this would be the end of the line for him; he had used up all of his regenerations, and it would be impossible for him to regenerate into another version.  
  
Twelve and the TARDIS would talk for days on end, before he finally set the coordinates for Matty’s 18th birthday, so that the blue box could return with the boy that had recently come of age, and Twelve could transfer the Doctor title to someone who was befitting of it, not only of his part-Time Lord lineage, but also because of his pure-Doctor descent.  
  
So that _The Majestic Tales of The Mad Man with a Box_ could continue, and they would continue with Matty.

 

*

 

Matty had waited three long years to speak to his father. It wasn’t like he could take the short cut, fire up the TARDIS and go three years ahead, so that he could then go back 20 years again to the very beginning. It doesn’t work like that. Despite being a time traveller, he had to be physically 21 years old, before he could make the trip back to the start.

It was very important that Matty was 21 when he speaks to his father again.  
  
But now that he was face-to-face with him, words just kind of got stuck in his throat, and he did not know where to begin. Matty was still getting used to the face he had not seen for so many long years – a younger face, in fact. He could see more of the resemblance to his father when the man looked younger – his greenish blue eyes, his tussled hair, his lanky physique… Matty had gotten them all from his father.  
  
“How is this even possible?” John breathed, still not quite believing who was standing right in front of him, when just moments ago, this young man was craddled in his mother’s arm, a baby, being told a bedtime story, so that he could go to sleep.  
  
“Us and our impossibilities,” Matty chuckled. Those words would always resonate with him and his family.  
  
John smiled.  
  
“How old are you now?” He asked.  
  
“I just turned 21,” Matty said. “I’ve waited a long time for this day to come, and after travelling through time and space at the blink of an eye every time, waiting to turn 21 feels like – forever.”  
  
“You’re – You’re a time traveller?” The Doctor asked. “Like…”  
  
“Like you. Like mum,” Matty smiled. “I guess time travelling runs in the family.”  
  
John’s smile subsided.  
  
“But – why now?” He asked. “Why wait until you’re 21 to finally come see me?”  
  
“Because I know you’ve been having nightmares, father,” Matty replied. “Nightmares of your past life that you will never remember, as long as you stay in your human form.”  
  
John looked down, and from inside his pocket, he took out the fob watch he had been holding onto since he stepped into the TARDIS.  
  
“You know how to make this – work?” John asked, eyes still fixated on the watch with the Gallifreyan engravement. “You know how to make the flip?”  
  
Matty nodded.  
  
“It’s part of the Chameleon Arch, a Time Lord device, made to modify the biology of a Time Lord, and change his species into something more palatable, or more convenient,” Matty began to explain.  
  
“This fob watch you’re holding, stores all of your essence as a Time Lord, and when opened, would return it all to you – including your memories, those memories that have been trying to get out of your subconsciousness – through your dreams and nightmares, through mother’s letters, even through the littlest things you cared not to notice in your everyday life.”  
  
“The reason why mother was the one who found the fob watch instead of you, even though it has been with you all this time, is because the fob watch comes with a perception filter,” he continued. “So that even though you might see it, right at the corner of your eyes, you would still think nothing of it.”  
  
“But – why would I change my entire biology and fit my entire life as a Time Lord in a fob watch?” John asked. “I mean – why did The Doctor do it?”  
  
“Well, to do the one thing any Time Lord – any father would do,” Matty said. “To protect his child.”  
  
John looked up and met Matty’s sad eyes and weak smile.  
  
“I was just a baby when the TARDIS made sure that I had the best of both worlds from you and mum, even though you were both worlds apart from each other,” Matty clarified, and pulled back his shirt sleeve to reveal a complicated watch he was wearing. “The TARDIS latched on to the vortex manipulator that you left behind when you went to see her that time, and that was how the TARDIS got me travelling back and forth in time and space.”  
  
“And I was still a child when mum – died, in the hands of the quantum shade,” he continued, a tinge of sadness in his tone. “That was why the TARDIS had to take me to you in Trenzalore, and I had stayed for the longest time with you then. Someone had to look after me, while another me had to go save mum.”  
  
John’s eyes shifted towards the ceiling of the TARDIS, and a smile widened on his face, as it did on Matty’s.  
  
“Well done, ol’ girl,” John whispered.  
  
“Anyway, when The Doctor after you, returned from Gallifrey, and the TARDIS had sent him to Trenzalore to see you, he brought up the question of whether my life would be in danger, because I was part-human, part-Time Lord,” Matty said. “I was the first non-metacrisis Human/Time Lord in the universe. Nobody knows what’s in store for me, and neither did you. So, you did the one thing to protect me – you hide.”  
  
“You disguised as a human and went back to Earth, leaving your days as The Doctor in Trenzalore – in the whole universe, in the hands of the other Doctor, just to protect me from unforeseeable harm,” he added. “The only thing was, my future self did not know this was to transpire, when I went to save mum from her afterlife. I took her home to you, yes, but I didn’t know you have gone through the Chameleon Arch, and you would not remember or know of Clara Oswald, or me – and I’m sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused mother during that time…”  
  
John saw that Matty’s eyes were brimming with tears, and he walked up to him and pulled Matty into his embrace.  
  
“Hey, it’s all alright now,” John said softly, as he gave a firm grip on the back of his son’s neck. “Everything fell through. We’re alright now. We’re together again – all of us.”  
  
“I know, father. I’ve been watching over you for the longest time – always, right here, in the TARDIS, just orbitting right outside of Earth,” Matty looked at John with tears streaking down his smiling face. “And I’m here now, to tell you, 20 years down the road, I’ll still be alright.”  
  
“The TARDIS and I, we’ve gone to places,” Matty disengaged from his father’s embrace, and circled around the control room. “Oh, the things I’ve seen, dad! I wish I could tell them all to you someday.”  
  
“We’ve met new civilisations, and saved dire planets from destructions – but the most important thing I’ve learned is that – the part-human, part-Time Lord me had never been an abomination to the universe,” he said. “But instead – a necessity.”  
  
“What do you mean – a necessity?” John asked, his brows furrowed.  
  
Matty hesitated for a moment, before he answered, his voice mixed with sorrow once again: “The other Doctor died, father. That was why the TARDIS came to me three years ago, to get me to Trenzalore in time before his death. I didn’t even have the time to say goodbye to both of you. I didn’t even know I would be away for so long…”  
  
“But I thought Time Lords, before their deaths, they regenerate,” John said.  
  
“Not forever, father. There is a time to live, and a time to sleep. A Time Lord is only granted so many regenerations, and The Doctor reached the end of the line with his last form,” Matty answered. “That was why it was crucial for me to be in Trenzalore that day. So that he could be the one to awaken the Time Lord essence in me, and keep the works of The Doctor going, keep the universe safe from harm as what The Doctor has been doing all his lifetimes – and who better to continue the heritage but The Doctor’s son himself?”  
  
“Time Lord essence,” John murmured haphazardly. “But does that also mean that the Time Lord’s regeneration is in your biology? That someday, you’ll regenerate – like I would?”  
  
“I don’t know, father,” Matty shrugged. “I am, after all, still part-human. It might not happen, but then again, it might. I’m the first of my kind – a hybrid, and there’s only one way to find out: to go the long way round, and see what happens when the time comes.”  
  
Matty noticed that John’s eyes glazed over, and he knew his father was already thinking ahead of time, wondering what fate would befall his son, whom in his reality, was still a baby sleeping soundly in a cot in the nursery room. Matty stepped forward to his father, and held both his hands firmly.  
  
“But the important thing _now_ is for you to know that I’ll be alright – I am alright,” Matty said quickly, to get the ugly thoughts out of his father’s mind before he goes too deep. “I couldn’t come to you before to tell you that because, well, I’m not of legal age yet. A Time Lord’s independence begins when he or she turns 21.”  
  
“Wh-What does that mean – for me?” John asked hesitantly.  
  
“It means – you don’t have to protect me anymore, father,” Matty said, giving John’s hands a squeeze. “You’ve done so much, and lost so much more because of me. You don’t have to hide anymore, Doctor. I’m my own man now, and well, you could say that you’re – free.”  
  
“Free?” John was still perplexed. “Free to do – what?”  
  
“Free to be whoever you want to be – a human, or a Time Lord,” Matty said, as he took the fob watch from his father. “You can have all your memories back, father. It’s frustrating not remembering anything about your real life, and you’ve been hidden in your own shadows for too long. Now, you’ve got the chance to remember them all. Not just as far flung memories or vague nightmares – they’ll all be yours, and they’ll all be as real to you.”  
  
“And the nightmares – they’ll all be gone?” John asked.  
  
“Yes,” Matty answered.  
  
“I’ll – remember everything,” John said. “All of the memories that belonged to The Doctor, and not John Smith?”  
  
Matty nodded.  
  
“Be – a Time Lord again?” John mumbled, as if to himself. “Forget – my life as John Smith?”  
  
“Yes, if you so choose,” Matty said, as he grasped the fob watch in a way that he could open it almost as soon as he was given the command to.  
  
John paused for a long while to think this through, before he finally spoke up again about his other option.  
  
“What if I stay human?” John asked. “What if I remain as Dr John Smith?”  
  
“Well then, you won’t ever be burdened by the immensity of being a Time Lord,” Matty said, matter-of-factly. “You see, father, if you were to get your Time Lord essence back, it won’t be just the memories of The Doctor when he was you – but memories of entire lifetimes of The Doctor since the very, very beginning.”  
  
“And if you ask me, father, Time Lords have a, shall we say, sickness – especially when the Time Lord is called The Doctor,” he added. “The Doctor will never settle down in one place for too long, father. He would be up and gone whenever some planets in galaxies light years away were a little askewed and he could feel it messing up his hair. The Doctor will never be home. He will always be off somewhere, far, far away – saving someone, some civilisation, some planet. The Doctor is never meant to be at one place only; that was why he left Gallifrey in the first place.”  
  
“Clara will be all alone – you’ll be alone,” John murmured seemingly to himself again. “I’ll never be with both of you all the time…”  
  
“Not likely,” Matty said with a sad smile.  
  
Matty watched as it became apparent to John that he was caught between a rock and a hard place. As much as he would want to remember everything from his past life, and not through fits of dreams that seemed like they were someone else’s, fatherhood had kicked in for The Doctor, and the thought of leaving Clara and baby Matty behind at any given time when his hair was out of place – it was as unbearable a thought to him.  
  
If The Doctor could remember his past life, he would recall the time he had spent with Amelia Pond – the first face his face saw, and how he had been away from her and Rory countless times, and not knowing the duration of when he was away, only to return again after two months, three years, 10 years… If The Doctor could remember his past life, he would recall as well the time when Amy and Rory were suddenly snatched away from him by The Weeping Angels, and sent back in time, never to be seen again. The Doctor would remember the regret he felt for not being around the Ponds more often when he got the chance. Those nights spent alone in the TARDIS in the clouds, overlooking Victorian London, The Doctor would remember how painful grief felt – grief, that no amount of time travelling, or saving the universe could ever mend.  
  
But John could feel those intangible sting to the heart even then, at the thought of leaving Clara and Matty without a sense of how long he would be away. They felt familiar, even though he was not sure why they were, and John knew there and then that he would not want to feel the same grief and regret ever again.  
  
John had inattentively slid down onto one of the many stairs that lead to God-knows-where in the TARDIS, buried deep in his thoughts and fears. Matty came and sat down beside his father, snapping him inadvertantly out of his trance.  
  
“Do I – Do I have to choose now?” John asked.  
  
“Of course not, father,” Matty said, trying to sound as lighthearted as he could muster. “You have all the time in the world to decide.”  
  
John looked towards his son, and saw a comforting smile on his face.  
  
“You’ve done so – so much for the universe, father, so much more than you could ever believe, or remember,” Matty said gently. “You took yourself out of The Doctor’s timestream when you took full responsibility of my life. The Doctor’s life was rewritten then, when the other Doctor took to protecting Trenzalore. When his time was done, I stepped in and took over The Doctor’s life. In a way, you have become – irrelevant.”  
  
“But I don’t want you to look at it as if it’s a bad thing, father,” Matty said firmly to him. “I don’t want you to ever think you were never important. You were the most important, and all that you’ve done were as important as the next – saving Trenzalore from destruction, was just as important as you going into hiding and protecting me.”  
  
It was John’s eyes then that started to well up with tears. It was strange that one could mourn over a life that he had never lived before, a life that he had always been told to be so great and so powerful, a life that was once his. Now, there was a slight chance that he might not even be able to experience it himself again.  
  
Matty sighed, not quite sure if this talk with his father he had been anticipating had taken the wrong turn, and he was hurting his father more than giving hope to him. He reached out and took his hand in his – both hands that were almost identical, when one were to cross dimensions to get to the other and make the comparison.  
  
“You don’t remember this, father, and I doubt you would even if you regain your Time Lord essence, but there was a time, when death had found its way to you at the form of four untimely knocks, and you had felt like you have been robbed as the saviour of worlds,” Matty said. “For the first time, you felt like you were taken for granted, and that with all the lifetimes you have lived, and all the things that you have done – you felt that it was not fair. It was not fair at all.”  
  
“Then, there was another time, when you have gotten so, so tired of saving the world, but getting no reward in return – no reward, just further heartache and loss,” he continued. “After living for over a thousand years, and saving the universe countless times, you gave up because in the end, the universe doesn’t care. The universe never cared…”  
  
“This is the bargain the universe never made with you before. This is the reward the universe never gave to you in return,” Matty concluded. “Your freedom, Doctor. To be whoever you want – human or Time Lord, and to choose a life that is yours and yours alone. Not because of the promise you made with the name you chose for yourself. Not because of the responsibilities your name holds. Not because of the paradox or the rewrite or the tear in the fabric of the universe or some stupid glowing scar tissue crack on the wall.”  
  
“Yours, Doctor,” Matty held on to John’s hands with both of his, and looked deeply into his father’s eyes. “Yours.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It contains all of The Doctor’s Time Lord essence in it. All I have to do is open it, and The Doctor – your Doctor – will be sitting right next to you, as I am now.”

Clara’s eyes fluttered open to the sound of plastic cups banging on the table from the kitchen. A smile came immediately onto her face, when she heard John’s gentle whispers and shushes towards Matty, telling him to keep it down, as mommy was still asleep.  
  
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and got up from the bed, all tangled in her blanket and the pillows she must have stolen from John during their sleep last night. The bedroom door was open, and she could see straight into the kitchen area, where John, his form crouched down so he was at eye level with Matty sitting on the high chair, looked up from the little hands he was holding onto, and pulled a wincing face when he saw Clara awake.  
  
John carried Matty out from his high chair, and murmured into his ear, as he walked towards the bedroom: “Now look what you’ve done, Matty.”  
  
Clara merely smiled up at the two, and extended her arms towards Matty, as John slid back into bed next to Clara and handed the baby over to her.  
  
“Good morning,” John greeted softly, and laid a kiss on Clara’s lips. “You were out pretty good last night.”  
  
“Helluva party, it was, wasn’t it, Matty?” Clara said to Matty, who was poking at her puffed up cheeks. “Your first birthday party, and you already got mommy all knackered!”  
  
Matty let out a laugh and made to grab Clara’s scrunched up nose.  
  
John looked on quietly with a smile, and leaned back against the headboard, watching as Clara interacted with their baby.  
  
It took Clara a while to notice that John had not said anything more other than their usual morning greeting, and she finally turned her attention to him, only to see him staring off into space, his fingers twiddling with the loose strand of his pillow idly.  
  
She leaned back and rested herself on John’s right arm, jolting him out of his thoughts. He merely gave a smile back, and draped his arm around the two.  
  
“Is everything alright?” Clara asked, still staring worryingly into John’s distant eyes.  
  
John remained smiling a little longer, before he sighed and looked down at a thread from the pillow twirled around his forefinger.  
  
“Clara,” he started, his tone filled with uncertainty, as Clara waited with bated breath. “If we managed to find a way to get The Doctor back – would you like that?”  
  
Clara didn’t answer. Her eyes continued to search the meaning behind John’s eyes, not quite sure where this conversation would lead to.  
  
“Is it – important for you, that The Doctor comes back?” John pressed on, not taking his eyes off Clara.  
  
It was Clara who looked away, not quite sure how to answer John, as she watched haphazardly as Matty smiled back at her with his wet fist stuck in his mouth.  
  
“Hey, look at me,” John whispered, running a hand through her hair, and guiding her head back up so their eyes would meet.  
  
Clara could only stutter and shook her head, not knowing how to answer the question. It wasn’t like she was not expecting it; she had been expecting it for almost a year, since she got together with John. She just never really bothered to craft a perfect answer to it, because she thought John was not really bothered as well to ask her.  
  
“I am, after all, just John Smith, Clara,” John said, the sad smile never leaving his face. “All that you know of this face – all the adventures you’ve shared with this face, they are all but mere memories and dreams to me. They never belonged to me.”  
  
“Because of that, I can never truly be The Doctor that you want me to be,” he continued. “I mean, I don’t even talk like him. Sure, we might have some similar resemblance in our kind of fashion taste, and perhaps our weird notion of doing the drunk giraffe dance whenever things got a little awkward. But we both know that deep down, I will never be The Doctor. I will always just be – John Smith.”  
  
It broke Clara’s heart listening to John speak, and despite not showing it, she knew John was breaking inside as he spoke the words, only putting on a brave front so that Clara could choose without being hindered by his emotions.  
  
John reached into his back pocket, and pulled out the fob watch Clara had seen him carrying around haphazardly for months, seen him staring at it in the middle of the night whenever he woke up from his nightmares.  
  
“I know what this is, and I know how this works,” John explained, holding out the fob watch in front of the both of them. Matty didn’t seem to like it, and he curled up against Clara’s chest, trying to put as much distance from the watch as he could. “It contains all of The Doctor’s Time Lord essence in it. All I have to do is open it, and The Doctor – _your_ Doctor – will be sitting right next to you, as I am now.”  
  
“But – what about you?” Clara looked up, slightly panicked. “What’s going to happen to John Smith, if you do?”  
  
“I’ll be back where I’m always supposed to be,” John shrugged, his smile was beginning to falter. “Right at the back of The Doctor’s mind, dormant and subconscious.”  
  
“Will The Doctor remember your memories?” Clara asked. “All that we’ve been through – the months you’ve lived in consciousness in this world?”  
  
“I, uh, I don’t think so, Clara,” John swallowed the lump growing in his throat, and tried to blink back the tears forming in his eyes. “I doubt he’ll remember this tiny fraction of his unconscious life, when he’s got over a thousand years of memories to keep him distracted.”  
  
Clara started to look troubled, and her heart started beating in a strange way. This was not sitting well with her. As much as she would like to have her Doctor back, there was never a day that passed for Clara that John Smith was not The Doctor. It would be selfish and unfair to this version of The Doctor, if she let him snap open the fob watch, and reclaim his former self, wipe out this current self of him completely, utterly.  
  
“What’s the one year with me,” John’s voice wavered, and tears were already flowing down his face. “Compared to the 300 years you have spent with The Doctor, really?”  
  
Clara set Matty down on the bundles of pillows and blankets beside her, and both her hands reached out to hold John’s with the fob watch in it, in an attempt to still the shaking of his hand.  
  
“Don’t you say that,” Clara hissed back at him, resting her forehead against his, as John closed his eyes. “Don’t you ever dare say that to me again, Doctor.”  
  
Her right hand reached up to cup his tear-stained face, as her thumb gently stroke the dimple next to his lips.  
  
“Don’t say that,” she said. “This one year I’ve spent with you, Dr John Smith, is just as worthy as the many, many years I’ve spent with The Doctor. Look at me…”  
  
John’s eyes were red and his lashes hung with tears, but Clara could see everything that he was in those greenish blue irises.  
  
“You were never two different people to me, Doctor,” both of Clara’s hands were holding onto John’s reddening face now. “There was never a moment in my life that I have ever doubted you were someone else. Even in those days when you thought you were just a normal medical doctor working in the hospital, I’ve always known my real Doctor is in there, waiting for me. Even in those days when you were not sure if your life was ever real, if you were ever real – I have always been sure that you are.”  
  
“You were, and you are, and you will – always be The Doctor – _my_ Doctor, to me,” Clara said in affirmation, and captured John’s lips with hers.  
  
“But I’ll never remember,” John said, when they broke away from the kiss. “I’ll never remember the man The Doctor was. All that he has done, all that he has been through – his memories, his victories, his loves…”  
  
“Do you love me?” Clara cut him off. “Right here, right now, do you love me?”  
  
John took a deep breath to allow some clarity into his clouding mind, then as steadfast as he had always known, he said: “There’s not a day I remember that I don’t.”  
  
“Then, that’s all that matters, Doctor,” Clara said with a tearful smile. “Because unless The Doctor had been someone else, unless you really were someone else, I know that you will love me always – The Doctor, or John Smith. You were never two different individuals to me, because you have the same heart that beats inside of you – the heart that will always love his Impossible Girl.”  
  
John exhaled what seemed to be the biggest sigh of relief in his life, as Clara drew him in to her arms, and held him so tightly. Even Matty seemed to know what the matter was, and had crawled his way to his parents, and threw himself onto their laps, getting in on the embrace, which made John and Clara laughed again, despite the tears running down their faces.  
  
Clara held onto John’s face a little moment longer, and caressed his deepening dimple next to his smile, and watched as his greenish blue eyes began to brighten up again.  
  
“Now,” she said, snatching the fob watch from John’s hand. “Please just put this away somewhere you can never – _ever_ – find, before your hurt somebody with it.”  
  
“And wipe those silly tears off your face, Doctor,” she added, as she took Matty in her arms, and got up from the bed. “It’s 11AM and Matty’s usual weekend cartoons are on. We’ve got to watch them as we usually do on Sundays, before you whisk us away on your motorbike for our usual adventures in the park.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” John could only chuckle and nod his head.  
  
Clara gave one final smile at John, and leaned down to kiss his forehead, before stepping out of the bedroom.  
  
“My Doctor,” she whispered.  
  
John smiled and grabbed her hand for a firm squeeze.  
  
“My Clara,” he said in return.

 

*

 

John spent some time by himself, after Clara had carried Matty out of the bedroom, and got the baby all glued to the television screen for the Sunday cartoons. John could hear the faint sound of the television drifting into the bedroom, and Matty’s excitable laughs as he watched his favourite characters come on screen.

Quietly, he slipped out of the room, and went down the hallway to Matty’s nursery. John was not quite sure what brought him there, but he had walked straight up to Matty’s cot, and spotting the little pillow with a giraffe stitched on it, he lifted it – and there it was, right where the older Matty had told him the vortex manipulator had always been, and how the TARDIS had managed to get Matty about through time and space.  
  
John looked down at the device, his thumb running across the tiny buttons and screen display, and thought of the many adventures Matty had already been on, and how much more the baby had known about him – or The Doctor, more than he would ever know.  
  
He pocketed the vortex manipulator, and as softly as he had entered the room, he left. Maybe, John thought, someday, when Matty is old enough, he might just pass the vortex manipulator to him, and tell him all about The Doctor’s stories.  
  
John stopped at the door of the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe, as he watched Clara pointing along with Matty at the television screen, and clapping her hands with his when Matty’s favourite characters did something that made the baby giggle wildly.  
  
Clara looked over her shoulder after a while, and upon catching John watching them, she smiled back at him.  
  
_My Clara,_ John thought, as he too smiled. _Always – My Impossible Girl._  
  
Then, John returned back into the bedroom, and took out the family’s riding gear, because by then, Matty’s cartoons were almost done, and it was almost time for their usual ride to Danson Park.  
  
Before he zipped up his riding jacket, he did the one thing Clara had told him to do – put away the fob watch. He fished the fob watch out from his pocket, and placed it at the very far back corner of the sock drawer, where he knew he would not go finding it anymore, (and also, because the fob watch had a perception filter intergrated in the device, and John would forget about the whereabouts of the watch, the moment he closed the drawer).  
  
After carrying the fob watch in his pocket for many months, he was ready to finally carry something else with him for a change – and hopefully, not for as long as he had done with the watch. In the far back corner of the second dressing drawer, John retrieved a blue velvet box he had hidden for some time now, (and if you must know, it was, of course, a TARDIS blue velvet box).  
  
He opened the box, and felt his heart fluttered fiercely, very much like the first time he saw the ring with a tear-shaped diamond behind the window display. He knew now, as he knew then – and perhaps even surer now than he was already then, that he would like to spend the rest of his life – The Doctor’s life, or John Smith’s life – with Clara Oswald.  
  
John heard the television set go off outside, and he fluidly slid the box into his pants pocket, just as Clara bounced into the bedroom with Matty, all excited for their day’s adventure. Their smiles seemed to broaden when they saw John already standing in the middle of the room, zipping up his riding jacket and giving the two a wink.  
  
“Who’s up for an adventure?” John exclaimed with both his hands raised in the air.  
  
Then, out of John and Clara’s expectation, Matty shrieked with excitement and uttered the first two words of his life (that the parents understand): “Doctor Daddy!”  
  
John and Clara looked at each other with wide eyes and surprised smiles.  
  
Inside, The Doctor could feel both his hearts (despite only settling for one now) blooming like flowers in springtime.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like an answer to the silent prayers Matty had been saying for the last six years, something happened that day on his 18th birthday.

Matty finished off the last page of the manuscript, and slid the stack of papers a little away from him on the dining table. He twined his fingers together, and thumped his hands on the tabletop, his mouth had gone lopsided as he continued to stare at the title of the manuscript:  
  
_The Majestic Tales of The Mad Man with a Box  
The Astronaut Ghost  
By Clara Oswald-Smith_  
  
From the kitchen, his mother looked up from the huge bowl she had been whisking the cracked eggs in, and stopped whatever she was doing when she saw the look on Matty’s face.  
  
“You don’t like it…” Clara gasped.  
  
“Did you actually tell me this bedtime story to put me to sleep when I was a baby?” Matty asked.  
  
“Of course not,” Clara replied, walking towards Matty, and taking the seat next to him at the dining table. “Did you not like it?”  
  
“It’s kind of – scary, for a children’s book, mum,” Matty said with a shrug. “If you didn’t tell me this story when I was a baby, what makes you think other mums are going to tell them to their babies?”  
  
“But it’s not a ghost story, it’s a love story!” Clara said, still trying to justify things with her latest edition to _The Majestic Tales of The Mad Man with a Box_ series.  
  
Granted, it did take Clara years to contemplate, whether or not she should send to the publishers this particular adventure she had with The Doctor, not quite sure either if it would be too scary for the children. It was the one when Clara and The Doctor went to the Caliburn House in 1974, which was believed to be haunted, only to find a time traveller stuck in a pocket universe, and two creature lovers separated in different time and space trying to get back together.  
  
Yet, children these days still continued to surprise Clara, and her publisher, seeing that they had gone against all odds and released the one that was about things that go bump in the night, one adventure that she had gone on with Twelve instead. (She had taken precautions to not include the part about her date with Danny Pink in it, but she did dedicate the book in memory of his passing, nonetheless). That book had sold better than the preceding books from the series, and it was looking back at that particular book that Clara felt confident this time to write about the Caliburn House ghosts.  
  
Matty just smiled and rolled his eyes at his mum.  
  
“Why do I even bother arguing with you on this, mum?” Matty threw his hands up in defeat. “You’re a booker prize winner for childrens’ books, mum! You don’t need my permission with every book you publish.”  
  
“I just wanted to be sure,” Clara said with a slight pout.  
  
Matty shook his head, and smacked a quick kiss on his mother’s cheek.  
  
“It’s fine, mum,” he said, heading out of the kitchen. “Send it to the publishers already. I’m getting tired of writing down his messages everytime he calls – which is _every_ time!”  
  
“Oi, where do you think you’re going?” Clara stood up from the dining chair, and folded her arms across her chest. “It’s your birthday party, after all, you know. Wouldn’t hurt to help a little in the kitchen.”  
  
“Dad said I don’t have to, if I don’t want to,” Matty poked his head back from around the corner, and grinned.  
  
“What?” Clara was in disbelief.  
  
“Besides, you never liked it when I helped out in the kitchen anyway,” Matty was already heading up the stairs towards his bedroom, as he shouted down to his mum. “’Cramping your style’, that was what you said last Christmas.”  
  
“Well, your dad will be home any minute, so you better be getting ready up there,” Clara yelled back up to him from the bottom of the stairway, before shaking her head and going back to her whisking.  
  
Matty shut his bedroom door behind him, and flung himself onto his bed, as any coming-of-age 18-year-olds would when they enter their bedroom. He stuck a pillow under his head, and stared up at the bookshelf above. Every volume of his mother’s successful book series was accounted for on the shelf, since the first one she wrote when Matty was only three – _Burp! Goes The Hungry Planet_ , an episode about Clara and The Doctor’s first adventure together to The Rings of Akhaten.  
  
Matty had lost count of the times he had picked the book out from the shelf, as the series grew in time. It was still his favourite book out of the lot. Probably because Clara had always chosen to tell this particular story to him when he was a baby, but Matty did enjoy the part about the leaf and how it was not just any old maple leaf, but page one – of this book, of this series, of his mother’s life, of his mother’s life with his father, and of course, of his life.  
  
If he were to open the book now, sandwiched in between the pages, it would still be there, that very first leaf Clara had picked for Matty when he was just a baby, and had seen autumn for the first time. Clara had dedicated the book to Matty, calling it “the family’s page one”.  
  
Matty had always loved the sentimentality of it – of _The Majestic Tales of The Mad Man with a Box_ , actually. Although he never quite understood where his mother had always gotten her ideas for her books, but he had always a strong feeling that she had lived the adventures herself, and his father could very well be “The Doctor” frequently mentioned in the book – that mad man with a box. Even though most of the time, his father never seemed to behave like mentioned in the pages; John Smith had always seemed more timid and serious, rather than rambunctious and audacious to his son.  
  
Matty reached over to his bedside table, pulled open the bottom drawer and took out the gift his father had given to him when he turned 12. He fastened the strap around his wrist, and felt the weight pulled his arm down to the bed. He had never understood what it was, and after six years, he was not sure he does still.  
  
Matty remembered asking his father if it was a special watch with all kinds of gadgety things going on, but it was apparently some sort of device called the vortex manipulator. He remembered not liking the birthday present from his father that year much. He might have even pulled a cringing face when his father said it was an old “heirloom”, and was then passing it on to him. He got even sadder when his father told him that it did not have the complete “parts”, and would not work until he gets older.  
  
Basically, from a 12-year-old’s perspective, Matty’s father had given him junk for his birthday.  
  
“It was the one thing that kept you close to me and your mother while growing up,” John had told Matty. “When you’re older, and the parts are completed – you will understand.”  
  
Besides that, it was something else his father said that stopped him from chucking the thing out of the window, as soon as he left the room. Something that reflected in John Smith’s eyes when he said it, and it twisted its painful way into Matty’s heart, and made him keep the device instead because he knew it meant a lot to his father.  
  
“When the day comes, Matty,” John had said to Matty, clasping the vortex manipulator in his son’s hand. “Promise me you’ll let your mother and me know about it, alright? Promise me that you won’t just – run off, and we won’t see you for a very long time, OK?”  
  
Matty didn’t know what his father meant back then, but he made his promise to him, nonetheless.  
  
“Someday, you’ll understand,” John had whispered to him, as they fell into a hug.  
  
Staring at the vortex manipulator now sitting about his wrist, Matty wondered if this would be the day his father meant when he said “older” and “someday”, and he wondered if this would be the day when the parts would be “completed”, and he would finally understand.  
  
Like an answer to the silent prayers Matty had been saying for the last six years, something happened that day on his 18th birthday. The wind kicked up quite an unnatural fuss outside of his bedroom window, a wind that seemed to come out of nowhere, drawing the fallen leaves on the ground up into a dancing swirl. With that, came a rather peculiar sound, a kind of whirring and grinding noise that got Matty out of his bed and looking out of his window with furrowed eyebrows.  
  
Then, something began to appear right in front of his eyes, something that pretty much came out from the pages of his mother’s books!  
  
It was impossible, Matty thought, that something from his mother’s stories would suddenly materialise right in front of him. But there it was: the blue box with the police signage at the top of the doors, which Matty had grown all too familiar with through illustrations and drawings.  
  
The TARDIS fully materialised in front of the Oswald-Smith apartment, and right at that second when it protruded a loud thump that seemed to silent everything around, everything suddenly made sense to Matty.  
  
The bedtime stories Clara had been telling Matty when he was a baby, the stories she had transpired into a successful children’s book series. _The Majestic Tales of The Mad Man with a Box_ ; the box was standing now right in front of him. The promises John had made Matty make when he was just a boy, they were all coming into fruition now: “someday” was today, his 18th birthday; “older” was when he turns 18; the “completed” parts were the TARDIS itself – and Matty finally understood.  
  
“Mum!” Matty yelled as he stormed his way out of the bedroom, down the stairway and into the kitchen. “It’s here – the TARDIS is here!”

 

*

 

Dr John Smith was practically on his motorbike, going at full speed home to his family, the second after he got the call from Clara that the TARDIS had arrived.

John knew what was going to happen next. He knew because his son, three years from now, had told him so. That was why he had been telling Matty since he was younger, to not leave without saying goodbye to his parents, because in another version of this reality, that was what happened, and that very much broke his heart, even though he knew Matty would be at no safer place than in the TARDIS.  
  
So, he had to go back as soon as possible, drop everything at work right at that second, if he had to, (which was what he did, although fortunately, he was glad he wasn’t stuck with a difficult patient at the time, or a long and boring important meeting with the important doctors that he could not get out of without getting sacked). Just to get back in time.  
  
Clara was already holding onto Matty as tightly as she could, not willing to let him go off on the TARDIS, when John finally arrived back at the apartment, and parked his motorbike right where his family was standing.  
  
Now that they were standing face-to-face, John noticed for the first time how much his son had grown. It felt like only yesterday he was cradling Matty in his arms, trying to put him to sleep. There Matty stood now, much more alike to the older version John had met many years ago – with his greenish blue eyes, tussled hair and lanky physique.  
  
There were no words left to say to Matty. Clara had told him all that he needed to know about The Doctor and his TARDIS, and John had prepared him long enough since he was a little boy, to anticipate the day when he would be whisked away in the TARDIS to galaxies away, to the planet Trenzalore, where he would meet The Doctor – where he would become The Doctor.  
  
All that was left now was the goodbye.  
  
Matty took hesitant steps towards the TARDIS, and stopped to look back at his parents as he got to the door, with one foot already inside the blue box. John held onto Clara tight, and whispered to her over and over again: “Everything is going to be alright. Everything is as it should be.”  
  
“Look, mum!” Matty said, as he smiled tearfully at his mother. From the backpack he was shouldering, he pulled out the first book of _The Majestic Tales of The Mad Man with a Box_ series – his favourite book of them all, the one with the maple leaf – his page one – sandwiched between the pages. “Now, _I'm_ the mad man with a box!”  
  
It made Clara laugh amidst her crying. It reminded her so much of her first day getting on the TARDIS and travelling with The Doctor; how she had clung onto her _101 Places to See_ book, with her page one slid in between the pages.  
  
“And I’ll tell you all the majestic tales that are to come, just like how you told me about them when I was a baby,” he added.  
  
Matty kept his promise to his mother in days and years to come. What was once The Doctor’s final resting place, became The Doctor’s home, and Matty always found himself gravitating the TARDIS back to Trenzalore, back to the clock tower basement where he had spent his earlier days with his father in. There, he would write his mother letters about his many, many adventures, much like how The Doctor, his father, had sat at that very spot, writing all those letters to his Impossible Girl.  
  
Through a telepathic circuit he had fixed up in the TARDIS, (amongst other things he had done up with the time machine, even went as far as installing a voice box for the TARDIS so that she could speak to him one day), he would link it back to his home on Earth like a personalised mailbox through time and space, using the vortex manipulator he had a mind to leave behind when he was 18 that day.  
  
Clara never missed a letter from Matty, and with every new adventure that came her way, she managed to transcribe them into newer volumes for _The Majestic Tales of The Mad Man with a Box_ , and made the children just as excited with every new book release, as when a new letter came through the mail box for her.  
  
Like how he would always find his way home through and from Trenzalore with the TARDIS, his letters to his mother never got lost, and would always find their way through the Oswald-Smith household mail box.  
  
As long as he kept the circuit linked, Matty could always send his love home from Trenzalore, and someday – even come home again.

 

*

 

And then, there were two.

John and Clara stood huddled together in the autumnal cold, as they watched the TARDIS slowly de-materialising itself back into orbit, with Matty inside.  
  
Right then, the wind finally subsided from the departure of the TARDIS, and plucked from the tree above their heads a golden maple leaf that twirled its way down, down to John’s feet. He bent down and picked it up, holding it in front of him and Clara, his wife. It made Clara stopped crying for a bit, and smiled up at him.  
  
“Page one – again,” John said, and kissed her on the lips.

 

E N D .


End file.
